


Leave it to Chance

by Hetsez



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: 22SAS, Action, Afghanistan, Anal Sex, Blood, Boys Kissing, British Army, Competition, Confessions, Death, Engineering, Feelings, Feels, First Time, Fluff, Hereford Base, Idiots in Love, Lazy Sex, M/M, Masks, Masturbation, Morning Sex, Mute is a young boi, Operation Jubilee, SAS, Seal team 6 - Freeform, Slow Sex, Smoke is a dick, Smut, Soldiers, Swearing, Training, didn't think this needs a warning for violence, emotional talk, happy end, inner turmoil, mental struggles, mission, operator alias, pre Rainbow, smute, sort of AU i guess, tensions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-08-16 23:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hetsez/pseuds/Hetsez
Summary: He was Mark’s commander, and was the cause of his whole world going to shit. He hated this man, wanted to get away from him as fast as he could. Then why did he decide to stay?This is the story of Mute meeting Smoke before Rainbow.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> You are looking at my entry for the SIEGE-A-THON 2018 competition! More info can be found here: [SIEGE-A-THON 2018](http://fuckyeahrainbowsix.tumblr.com/siegeathon) (Better late than never, right?) c:  
> UPDATE: The voting has now officially started! See this link [VOTE HERE](http://fuckyeahrainbowsix.tumblr.com/post/180200305222/siege-a-thon-2k18-entries) for the list of writers who are participating and for the link to vote c:  
> UPDATE2: Thanks to your wonderful help, this story was placed first in the SIEGE-A-THON competiton! See here for the final [results](http://fuckyeahrainbowsix.tumblr.com/post/180811476677/siege-a-thon-2k18-winners)!
> 
> This story takes place 6 years before Rainbow. Mute is a 19-year-old soldier of the British army and Smoke a 30-year old SAS operator. 
> 
> This story is partially based on real events (the Afghan war), but I will describe fictional events. So I’d like to make absolutely clear that the names and part of the situations are made up. I am aware of any inaccuracies. The start may be a bit gruesome but I promise it gets better! Please enjoy!

“Alright, you ladies,” his loud, crude voice barked over their heads. Those present blinked a few times at his obvious London accent, so unsophisticated and blunt it sounded. Even to a lot of British guys like them, his accent was loud and unfriendly. They watched him with mild curiosity as well as mild dislike. They listened with bated breath, although it wasn’t like they could speak up anyway. No, their “superior” was talking to them now. 

The tent they found themselves in was badly illuminated, stank of smoke and the air was heavy. It was hot and cramped, especially in their army fatigues. The only thought that made them feel better, was that it wasn’t much cooler outside. Though it would be less stuffy… The man in front of them did nothing to cheer them up either. 

Mark already disliked him. The so-called prestigious, talented and experienced SAS operator was pacing up and down in front of him and his mates from the army, feeling oh-so important with himself. Okay, it was true. They had only recently joined the British army and didn’t yet have the skills of the man in front of them. Far from. But for him to be so supercilious with them… The man was fairly small, even to British standards, and somehow Mark figured he was trying to make up for his height with that pride of his. His face was rough, an unkempt stubble was growing on his cheeks and chin and a pair of keen, smart eyes were piercing the soldiers in front of him. He was trying to gauge what kind of men he had been assigned to for their mission. 

They had been deployed to Afghanistan months earlier. They hadn’t been doing much since then, just some small missions in the area. Now would be their time to act, and they would have to sweep a small city clean that was currently being held by the Taliban. It was supposed to be a mission the British army and its allies could handle perfectly fine, until the intel came in that there might be bombs on site. Logically, the army had called for some professional help. 

And that “help” was standing in front of them now. 

“I’m not going to bother learning your names, because you’ll all be blown to bits before I can even remember one of your petty names. Instead I’ll give you all a number. Save it in those teeny tiny brains of yours, because if I call out a number and none of you idiots move to follow my orders, you’re all dead to me. Understood?” 

“Yes sir.” The soldiers replied in unison. They understood, but they didn't agree. No soldier wants to be treated like this by their commander , but the SAS man seemed to think he had the superiority to do it anyway. The soldiers all already felt a certain distaste for their new commander, but none of them dared to show it. Mark just silently glared at the SAS operator in front of them. 

_Arrogant prick…_

“Good. Now pay attention, you little rats. I’ll only explain the plan once. If you sleep through it, I will not be held accountable for any injuries or deaths.” The SAS man said moodily before he bent over the table in front of them. On it lay a map of the town they were going to storm, and several objectives were marked with little red flags. The soldiers reluctantly shuffled closer to the table to gaze upon the map and listen to their temporary commander. “Right…” He said and begun his half-hour boring briefing on their upcoming mission. 

Mark exchanged some dark looks with his fellows every time their commander reminded them just how small their chances were to survive. The man wasn't the most cheerful guy, nor the friendliest. He didn’t seem to care much for their lives during this mission, mentioning once or twice that “sacrifices might be necessary”. Secondly, he didn’t boost their confidence at all. He hadn’t even given them his name, for example, saying he preferred to be addressed to as “Sir”. Now that could be explained by the fact he was a secret op and needed to stay incognito, but Mark and his friends were in the army as well, just like this SAS guy. They didn’t think they would be treated like common civilians in the presence of a guy they thought was a hero. 

The man was a maniac as well. The plan he had for the siege of the town wasn’t solid at all, had lots of gaps and risks, but their commander wouldn’t change his mind on it. He said if everybody would listen and follow his orders perfectly, everybody would be fine. He didn’t seem to care much if anyone of them would die today, and seemed to enjoy the chaos and havoc that was their mission. The group of soldiers had major doubts about their commander, but they didn’t say anything. 

Although, one of Mark’s bolder fellows had the courage to open his mouth. He didn’t get far, though. 

“Sir, forgive my butting in, but isn’t this plan incomplete? Shouldn’t the scout team be way ahead of the group? Shouldn’t we keep to small alleys, stay in the shadows? Isn’t walking out in the open fatal?” 

The commander chuckled, putting his scarred, calloused hands on his hips. Mark looked at them for a second, admiring how they were the perfect evidence that this man had seen _action_ , had seen much more than Mark had in his short time in the army. Mark’s attention was soon drawn to his rough face again when the loud voice rang through the tent. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was in the presence of a master at strategies? Your rank, soldier?” 

“Private, sir.” The soldier mumbled softly, barely audible. 

“Is that so? Then I advise you not to give any criticism, scum. Just wait and see if you’re still alive by my age, huh?” The commander smirked, a look that was both making Mark’s heart sink as well as it skipping a beat. The fact that he had just offended one of his peers, though, made him glare at the commander. This guy had some serious arrogance issues. 

“Yes sir.” The soldier’s voice was only a whisper now. He bowed his head, his hands behind his back as he stared at the floor in shame. 

The commander snorted and started pacing again. “For one, I never split up a group. In my opinion we have more chances to stay alive when we stay together. And what is scouting far away from the main squad going to do if we can’t communicate apart from hand gestures? We can’t shout. You nitwits aren’t supplied with comms. What good will it do? And second, what use is staying in alleys when there’s no cover there? If we’re ambushed, we’ll fall like feathers in the wind. All of us. No chance to survive if we can’t escape. Move through the main streets. Move fast, easy and have cover. More chance for survival.” 

The group held their breaths during the speech. The soldier’s arguments had sounded logic, but the commander’s counters had sounded even more logical. They came to realise that the SAS operator was not bluffing and did have experience on the field, but he still didn’t make them feel at ease. 

“So, anyone else got complaints?” The commander said grumpily and stopped, letting his gaze linger on every individual for a little too long, making them feel uncomfortable. When the soldiers remained quiet and awkwardly avoided making eye contact, shifting from one leg to the other nervously, the commander let it slide and continued his briefing. 

Mark sighed. He didn’t understand the man in front of him. Would he lead them to victory, or to death?


	2. Chapter 1

After the rather discouraging briefing, the group was allowed to prepare without the supervision of the SAS operator. Naturally, they were happy to be rid of him for a few minutes. The soldiers gathered in their barracks – which was a set of tents gloomily set together - voiced their concerns to one another, tried to cheer each other up by saying they would stick together and defend each other against their crazy commander. Mark was patted on his back by several hands, as he lived in the comfort of being the youngest of their team and having the protection of all the older guys on his hand. He was, so to say, their younger brother in this hostile land far away from home and they were very protective of him. 

It didn’t help that other teams of British soldiers led by other members of the SAS returned from their briefings excited and amazed with their commanders. The other SAS ops had apparently been able to provide their teams with solid plans that left the whole team elevated with their upcoming success. It seemed like Mark and his group had had some bad luck being assigned to their commander, as all of the others seemed to be great. The unfortunate soldiers sat on flimsy wooden benches, gearing up, while taking jealous peeks at the other soldiers. They would be led by proud leaders, while Mark and his team were left in the hands of a crazy idiot. The group of soldiers, clad in their desert MTP camouflage, masks and helmets and geared up with their stock rifles provided by the army, sat watching the others’ excitement with frowns, thin lips and unease. 

They didn’t get a lot of time before their commander appeared out of his tent, strode over to them and looked them all up and down disappointedly. The group fell silent and stared right back at their commander. Mark guessed the man was around his thirties. His short hair was a sandy brown, and it shone in the unforgiving light of the desert sun. He was compact, yet his body looked fully capable of lifting even the heaviest weight back in the make-shift gym in their camp. Mark stared at the man with dislike, but he also realised this man was his superior and he had to respect him. 

Their commander took a step towards them, and patted their shoulders lightly while he counted: “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven and eight. Now don’t you numbskulls forget your number, or we're all done for. If I call out your number, you are to act. I won’t tolerate it if you disobey. Am I clear?” 

“Yes sir.” The group of soldiers said in unison once again. Mark balled his fists. He was number six, and he would not forget it. He would do everything their stupid commander asked of them, to show him they were not incapable idiots. They would make it out alive. They would show him. 

“Right. Off to the transport, then.” The commander said simply, and without waiting for his men, he strode over to one of the armoured vehicles that was waiting for them. He got in without even looking back. The soldiers exchanged looks before they quickly followed their commander. 

Mark got into the vehicle and they sat shoulder to shoulder while their commander had picked his spot right next to the driver, where he was comfortable and had lots of personal space. Mark didn’t mind, his fellow soldiers were like his brothers, but it annoyed him their commander had already left them behind. And the mission hadn’t even started yet! 

The other teams, three of them, got in their vehicles too and slowly the transport started to move. The journey was going to be dull. Everything in this godforsaken country looked the same. The buildings, the streets, the people, the surroundings… Everything was grim, even though the skies were bright blue and the sun warmed whatever its beams could reach. These weather conditions usually made him cheerful, but now Mark sat gloomily in the back of the truck. He had a nagging feeling in his stomach that something terrible was going to happen. 

“Any stories, sir?” One of Mark’s fellow soldiers suddenly piped up, apparently too uncomfortable with the silence in the vehicle and the constant heavy hum of the truck’s engine. 

“Plenty.” The commander didn’t even turn around in his seat. “All confidential I'm afraid, darling.” 

The soldier slumped back in his seat. Of course, what kind of answer had he expected? Mark thought. A guy like this won’t give any information, not even a little story. What an ass. He imagined the teams in the other trucks, being told stories by real veterans who had lived through some shit. Mark had always been excited about the SAS, but this one guy ruined the picture of a strong and awesome elite force severely. 

Their commander sat in his passenger seat like a king on his throne, only this king wore blue combat fatigues and had a gas mask on his lap along with his trusty old shotgun. Mark could easily imagine this was a guy who enjoyed being the superior of simple soldiers, loved being the one who could boss them around and give them orders. Mark’s eyes shot daggers at his back. 

Talking in low voices amongst themselves, the soldiers tried to pass the time while being completely ignored by their commander. They talked casually, to relieve the tension of their mission and to cheer each other up. But by the time they arrived at their destination, the soldiers descended from the truck with white faces and clenched jaws. They held their rifles in firm grips, as if scared to lose them. Because if you lose your rifle in a fire fight, you’re done for. That's what the soldiers had been taught. 

“Cheer up, my little ugly ducklings! I’m here after all!” The commander barked with a big grin as he too got out of the truck. He strapped the gas mask, signature of the SAS, to his face and motioned for his team to get closer. The truck drove off, dust was blown up behind it as it raced off. The soldiers watched it go for a moment, a melancholy feeling settling in their stomachs. 

“We do not rest until all the filth in this city has been dealt with, am I understood? No one gets space to breathe until we're all back together on the transport. Follow my orders and you’ll make it, but don’t pull me down, novices.” 

It was the worst pep talk Mark had ever heard. Was this supposed to motivate them? Boost their morale? Because it wasn’t working. Not a single bit. Mark had never felt so uneasy during a mission. The palm of his hands tinged with nervousness. His heart rate had picked up and he felt his hands were sweaty in his gloves. His whole body was tensed and his muscles ached. He wondered how he would be able to perform well this way, but as he looked at his fellows, he felt himself ease down. These were his friends, he felt safe in their company and he knew he could trust them. If he couldn’t have confidence in his commander, at least he had confidence in his team. 

“Numbers one and two, at the front with me. We're the scouts. Three, four and five in the middle, keep your eyes peeled for any movement around us. Six, seven and eight, you defend our asses. Am I clear?” The SAS operator instructed the disorganised group of soldiers. The men nodded at once and got into formation. The commander took the lead after checking if his shotgun was loaded. He then motioned for the team to follow him. 

Mark made up the rear of the group. He was in between two of his older teammates, and after giving each other a curt nod, they started following the commander. Step by step they slowly progressed, walking at a slow pace as to not kick up too much sand on the dusty streets of the town, to stay silent and to allow themselves time to take in their surroundings. Their heavy boots and the sound of guns brushing against cloth was all that disturbed the peaceful silence as the team curiously looked around the place. It was a typical Afghan town they were walking through, with small alleys and sand-coloured buildings that were near collapsing, the effect of this wretched war easily recognisable. It saddened Mark to think there were probably still families living in these houses, scared to death by the bombings and the militants, yet also deadly afraid to leave and flee. 

It was moments like these that he reminded himself why he was here. To save these innocent people from their dictators, so they could live free and happy. The fact that it took so much blood, sweat and tears – but mostly: lives, was heart-wrenching. What Mark didn’t know yet then, as he walked through the eerily quiet, sun-lit streets of a town that he had already forgotten the name of, was that this mission would turn out to be deadly. The bloodshed that day would haunt him for years to come. 

It all started when they had been making quite good progress finding their way through the winding roads and alleys of the town. It was quiet, yet they should have realised then that silence in a besieged town could mean no good. The sun shone, giving the seemingly deserted town a nice, warm glow, yet that shouldn’t have made them feel comfortable and at ease. Their commander suddenly appeared to be a leader now that he was in his element, which gave Mark a false sense of confidence. 

Yet it shouldn’t have. 

A shot pierced the comfortable silence they had all gotten used to. Mark’s heart rate picked up in an instant, his eyes going wide and he was feeling the animalistic desire to turn on his heels and _run_. He didn’t give in to it though, because not even a second after the shot was heard, their commander yelled: “Sniper! Take cover!” Mark immediately took cover in an adjacent alleyway, and found all of his team had done the same. Except for one. 

One of the scouts, who their commander had dubbed as “number two”, was still out there, on the road. 

Although, Mark wondered if that even was his fellow soldier anymore. A man he had shared food and accommodation with. 

His face looked different. 

His body had fallen onto the soft stone of the road, backwards, so Mark could easily see his face. It was grey, the pupils were turned upwards and the mouth was hanging open. On his forehead was a dark-red dot, surrounded by hot-red blood. It streamed down his temples into his helmet slowly, sticking to his hair. 

Mark wanted to turn away, but he found he couldn’t. He kept staring at his dead teammate, whom he had only just been sitting next to in the truck, alive and well. Was this life? Where two parties with guns decided who lived and who died? Mark had only been on recon missions before, and had never had to deal with witnessing the death of a fellow soldier. It was revolting. 

“Hey, Mark.” 

A soft voice and the snapping of fingers took his attention. 

“Don’t look now.” 

Mark looked up and away from the body, to find one of his fellows standing in front of him. It was the oldest guy of the team, tall and big and always up for a joke. Now his face looked grave as he tried to pull Mark away from the scene. He only just noticed he was trembling now, clasping his hands together nervously and being unable to breath properly. Had one of them really just been killed? 

“He’s in a better place now, Mark. Out of this shit hole. He didn’t deserve it, of course not. He- he, we will avenge him, kill all these wankers. Fuck, you hear me? He won’t have died in vain.” 

Mark nodded, but the guy didn’t comfort him. His voice shook and Mark could see the plain fear in his eyes. For a reason, of course. Because he might be next. 

The soldier kept holding onto Mark, even when he had calmed down. It seemed like he was in a shock, but Mark was too shocked now as well to be able to help his friend. He heard the quiet sobbing of one of his team mates. Shit. Mark didn’t want this cursed war to tear them all apart. 

“Tea party’s over, ladies.” The blunt voice of their commander took their attention. The soldier who had been holding Mark let go of him suddenly, as if he had been underwater and their commander’s call had helped him surface. “One here and I,” the commander gave a quick nod at the nervous-looking soldier beside him who had been ‘number one’, “have dealt with that sniper. Time to carry on. You can mourn when we get back.” He then looked Mark dead in the face – although that was hard to determine seeing as he was wearing a mask – and said: “You at the front with me and him. Now.” 

Mark reluctantly complied, taking position at the head of the formation along with the commander and “number one”, who looked about ready to piss his pants any moment now. They started moving again, even slower now than before. Mark had the urge to look back at his older teammate, but he didn’t. In silence they walked on for a while, before the commander spoke up. 

“Your first death?” He asked, his voice was as blunt as usual. There was no emotion to it and it was as blunt and loud as before, even though he tried to be as quiet as he could. Mark shot him a sidelong glare. He bit his cheek, remaining quiet for a while before he finally gave his answer. He didn’t want to ignore his commander, but the question had been completely out of place. 

“I do not wish to remain a soldier. I would like to do something technical for the army, use my talents. I do not wish to continue seeing and sowing death wherever I go. I-“ Mark wanted to say more, wanted to give a heated argument about just how wrong the commander was in taking joy in killing people, but he bit his tongue and remained quiet. 

The commander laughed. “Too pretty for the rough work, soldier?” 

Mark clenched his jaw and balled his fists. He had to force himself not to have another outburst against his commander. It would only entertain him. It was like having an argument with a stupid person. No matter how right you were, they stoically believed they were right and wouldn’t open their minds to see that they were wrong. Mark despised the commander. 

After that, they trudged on in silence. The commander didn’t try to lure him out of his shell again, although Mark was sure he was still grinning behind that gas mask of his. Which, now he came to think of it, must be extremely hot out here. But his arrogant commander kept wearing it, his whole uniform dark-coloured which made Mark wonder how the man wasn’t having a sun stroke. He decided they would probably be better off if the commander were to perish here in this lonely town anyway, so he shrugged his worries off and focused on the task at hand again. 

Now that he was in front, Mark kept his eyes peeled for any movement in the dark windows above them. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t fall to another one of those coward snipers. Lurking in a hidden spot, only waiting for you to walk into their scopes. How pathetic. No, Mark was straining his eyes to find one. 

Unfortunately, the next attack wasn’t aimed at the front. It was a surprise attack at their backs. 

Shouts, screams and gunfire echoed through the deserted streets out of nowhere. On instinct, Mark was able to duck and seek cover just in time before the bullets soared past him. The team was in chaos. Half of them returned fire from their covered positions, the other half was still in the streets trying to defend themselves. They disobeyed the commander's barked orders, telling them to find cover. That, or they simply didn’t hear him. It was their doom. 

They were _pierced_ , their bodies spasming as the bullets made them resemble Swiss cheese more than humans. The soldiers still out there on the street, succumbing to the bleeding wounds in their body, were the two who had made up the rear now that Mark had left them. He watched how the oldest guy slumped onto his knees and hit the floor, his lifeless body now littering the road along with his and his mate’s blood. For a second Mark could feel the two heavy, warm hands holding his shoulders once again, not even 15 minutes ago. Shit. Mark wanted to gag, but he didn’t get any time. The enemies were now coming for them, and they weren’t in the best of positions. 

These terrorists probably knew this town like their own homes, knew exactly where to go to eradicate the intruders. It made Mark’s blood run cold. And so he forced himself to lean over the large crate he had sought refuge behind and fired at will at the attackers. The rest of the team did the same, and several pained cries told them they had hit their target. 

Mark shifted slightly in his position and felt himself brush past another member of his team. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye told him that the person beside him – dark-clothed – was the commander. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or not, but a small voice in the back of his head told him that it was the commander who had ordered him to take position at the front of the formation and had thus indirectly prevented his death. Mark hated the fact that his brains told him to feel thankful of the commander. 

“Cover me!” The commander then barked at him and he stood up with a grenade in his hand. Mark was a bit slow to react, but he succeeded in defending the SAS operator while he threw his grenade. The man was back behind the cover in a second, shielding himself against the blast as the grenade exploded amongst the enemies. 

It caused the deaths of several attackers as well as it caused chaos, which meant the team could come out of their cover a bit more to kill off the enemies with a few precise shots. It was over before Mark realised it. The street was filled with the corpses of several men, two of their own and all of the attackers. The air was stale with the smell of lead and blood, and it took the soldiers a while before they dared to come out of hiding fully. 

Mark covered his mouth with his gloved hand to keep himself from throwing up. Would he ever be able to get used to this? Of course not, and that’s why he’s going to join a technical division of the army. No more killing for him after this hell in Afghanistan was over. 

Right? 

Right then, Mark wasn’t even sure if he had a future. Within a timespan of half an hour, nearly half his team had been murdered already. What chance did they have if they were being killed at this rate? Mark lifted his helmet and brushed the sweat off his brow. He stood at a small distance from the others, where the hot, faint wind didn’t carry the smell of war and death. He guessed his team was trying to leave their fellows’ bodies in the most dignified and respectful way they could in circumstances like these. 

He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t. 

“Having a tough time there pal?” The commander disturbed his thinking, the smirk that was probably hiding behind that mask was obvious in his voice. He was standing next to Mark, but his company didn’t bring any comfort. It only brought hostility and hatred. 

Because if the commander would have had a proper, solid plan, they wouldn’t be dying like this. It was all the commander’s fault. He was the reason this situation was going to shit. 

“Anyway, had enough time to think about your mum back home? Because we need to get going.” He continued bluntly, calling for the rest of the soldiers to join them once again as they made their way to their objective: the bomb. Now that there was only five of them left, Mark was told to be the one scouting with the commander while the other four soldiers made up the rear. He felt in his bones that the commander was doing this to annoy him, but he wouldn’t give in to another outburst. With thin lips and without looking at the commander once, he got into formation. 

The commander’s remark had made his blood boil. To talk about his mother, the kindest of all people in the world, bless her, right when he had witnessed death and decay, was agonising. He wanted to believe he was a real man now; a soldier fighting in Afghanistan, but he couldn’t deny that he would have much rather been at home than in this hell hole right now. 

“How old are you anyway, lad?” 

It sounded so condescending, so criticising, Mark nearly stood still and risked having the other soldiers behind him bump into him. He shot a filthy glare at the commander, who looked back through the goggles of his gas mask. It looked as if he was daring him to get angry again. Mark wouldn’t give in. 

“I’m 19 years old, sir.” Mark said as neutrally as he could. 

“Hmm, fresh meat.” The commander mused, followed by a howl Mark guessed was a genuine laugh. It sent a shiver down Mark’s spine, despite it being hot in the Afghanistan temperatures. “You’re young mate,” the SAS operator continued when he got his breath back, “and already deployed?” 

“I was a promising soldier, or so I was told.” Mark said reluctantly. “But like I said before, I don’t want to be in the field. I want to be in a technical division.” 

“You shouldn’t let your talents go to waste, boy. It’d be a shame. Usually the young ones die first, but you’re still here. Wouldn’t you consider remaining a soldier? You could do great things.” The commander suddenly turned a lot more serious than Mark had seen him all day. 

“I won’t, sir.” Was Mark’s final answer. He didn’t want the commander to distract him when they should be paying close attention to their surroundings. 

“Suit yourself.” The SAS operator shrugged. 

They continued on in silence. Even more careful now, even more tense. It was all or nothing if they wanted to reach the bomb before the whole team was slaughtered. 

Mark felt a cramp in his hand holding the grip of his gun, but he ignored it. He held it so tightly, but he didn’t want to weaken his grip. He couldn’t afford to lose focus for one second, couldn’t afford to loosen the grip on his gun for even a moment because if he let that slack, he’d be done for. He was sweating under his uniform. The helmet, the gloves, the heavy combat shoes... Their desert uniform with the faded MTP camouflage, which was supposed to be light, was sticking to his skin. The backpack, bulletproof vest and every strap and belt felt like they were dragging him down in this heat. Mark had never longed for the cold, rainy British weather more. 

Along the way, as seconds changed to minutes and the road ahead of them seemed endless, Mark started to ease down a bit. Surprisingly, he felt like he and the commander worked together well. Without a word they made sure they both covered areas of the front, scouting in different directions which made them able to see optimally. They moved in sync, footsteps falling in the same rhythm and attention and concentration to the max. Mark threw a quick look at the commander from time to time. This is what he imagined a SAS soldier to be like; a perfect war machine in every environment. He almost started having respect for him. 

Almost. 

But the fact he had let Mark's fellows down wasn’t easy to forgive. Mark didn’t have long to ponder over those thoughts though. The next dramatic event - that would wipe out the rest of their squad - was about to take place when Mark heard the unmistakeable sound of their doom. 

There wasn’t any time to act, nor was there any time to think. Mark cried out on instinct before the sound had even died down: 

“RPG!” 

And as he shouted, he threw himself against the commander and out of the way. And just in time they fell to the dusty floor, for the shell missed them by an inch. Mark felt its heat, felt the air moving behind him as he knocked the SAS operator to the floor. 

“Bloody-“ The commander started, but whether he ever finished speaking, Mark didn’t know. He pushed the commander to the dry floor and covered his own head with his other arm as a deafening explosion sounded right behind them. 

A wave of air flew past them, tugging at their clothes. The earth shook under the explosion and Mark's teeth shook in his mouth. He flinched as the deafening sound of the explosion hit his ears, every muscle and his whole body was tense. Instinctively he held his eyes tightly shut, scared any debris might cause him to lose his sight. His heart was pounding in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

What the fuck. 

The first thing he realised was that he didn’t feel hurt. Apart from the explosion that had made his head throb, he thought that maybe, just maybe he had survived this. Apparently they had been able to jump aside just in time. Either that, or he had lost feeling in all of his limbs. Or he was drifting off to a better world where there was no such thing as pain and hurt. The second thing he noticed, was that he was temporarily deaf. No sounds reached his brains, and he stayed flat on the floor for what seemed like ages, unable to determine whether it was safe to move again or not. 

Mark noticed he hadn’t, in fact, lost feeling in his limbs, as the commander beside him started to move. He felt him wiggle under his arm, trying to get free. He opened his eyes wide and stared right at the face of the SAS operator. One of the goggles on his gas mask had burst, the glass having left small wounds on his skin around his eye that were bleeding silently, but none seemed to have reached his eye. Mark saw how he ripped the gas mask off his head and spoke, yet Mark didn’t hear any words. He just saw his lips move. Moist, red lips, unlike his own that felt dry and painful. 

It took a while before Mark overcame the blast of the RPG. His first step back to earth was when the commander grabbed his vest and shook him while he tried to get through to the soldier. Still the words that Mark saw him speak did not reach his ears. The commander threw his arms in the air and abruptly turned around in their position on the floor and looked behind them. Mark looked too, slowly because his head was aching, but afraid of finding a whole squad of terrorists there. 

There was nothing behind them. Only a lot of dust and a demolished house. Their teammates weren’t anywhere around. The commander got up painfully and stalked over to the rubble. He stood in front of it, his hands clenching and unclenching. And that was when Mark started to realise. 

His fellows were under the bricks and dust. 

Buried. Literally. 

Mark immediately cast his eyes away. It hurt his head and turned his vision black for a moment, but he couldn’t cope with it. No, better yet, he couldn’t believe it. Was the rest of the team gone now too? Was he really the only one left alive besides the commander? It seemed impossible, that they had breathed their last breaths only moments ago. 

His shocked eyes found his commander’s mask. Cast away and broken it lay in the dust of the street. As Mark stared at it, the frightening thought came to him that it was the ultimate sign of their defeat. The team was broken, useless, and their mission was doomed. How could they go on? 

Mark then looked at the man himself and found him before him, his arm outstretched and offering his hand. He looked determined yet calm as his eyes pierced Mark’s. Mark swallowed his dry throat. Somehow, the commander looked stronger now than before, making the gas mask on the floor next to him seem like a skin he had just shed off, like a snake would do. It didn’t make him weaker. It made him stronger. 

Mark reached his hand towards the commander reluctantly. Did he trust this man? And what were they going to do anyway? They couldn’t just storm the objective with the two of them, could they? But the man grabbed his hand and helped him up in silence with one swift pull of his strong arm. 

With shaking hands, Mark brushed off his clothes and inspected his own body. No wounds. He had acted just in time. 

“Good quick thinking back there, boy.” The commander’s loud voice invaded his fragile ears suddenly. At least now he knew he wasn’t permanently deaf. 

“Are they gone?” Mark didn’t take the compliment, scanning the dusty area for a sign of movement. Their vision was bad because of the dust, so he couldn’t even see more than five metres away. He only half realised his question could be interpreted in two ways, and by the silence that followed, the commander was probably wondering which party he meant was _gone_. 

“Yes, idiots always take only one shell. But they’ll be back. We gotta move on.” The SAS operator said bluntly and took a few steps in the direction they had been going before, and then stopped again. “Are you with me?” 

Mark sighed as he looked at the commander. It seemed that he had two options. Die here, cowering in the rubble or die trying. Mark had made up his mind. He shook the tenseness out of his body, rolled his head on his neck and held the grip of his gun lightly in his hands before he took his place next to the commander. They were going to get through with this. They had to avenge his fellows. 

And with a nod, he answered: “Yes sir.”


	3. Chapter 2

“Brace yourself boy!” The commander shouted from where he sat hunched over the explosives. Mark pressed his back against the wall he had taken refuge behind, a firm grip on his gun as he waited for the sound of footsteps and angry shouts. 

They had made it to their objective without a scratch, although they had met another pair of snipers and heavy resistance. This time however, the team of two was ready and on the lookout for it. They knew the others abilities and limits without a word spoken between them, and acted accordingly. Mark was the ever-keen scouting eye, while the SAS operator was the strategic master mind and delivered the force to fight back. This way they had fought their way to the objective working together, rather than alongside each other as they had been doing before the rest of the team was murdered. 

And yes, the commander had turned out to be a good strategist. He loved chaos and havoc, but if worst came to worst, he was in his element. He came up with plans on the spot rather than thinking ahead, and even though Mark had anticipated that would be their death, it had actually worked out quite well. 

Now the SAS operator sat hunched over the explosives. 

The bombs that had been primed, destined to kill the civilian population of the town as well as blowing it up – because if the terrorists couldn’t have it, no one could – were placed in a small market square with only one way out: an archway with such architectural beauty that it should have been in every travel folder in the western world, weren’t it for the fact that it stood in a country that was at war. They had no time to admire it though, as the commander set straight to work to disarm the bombs. He had told Mark to cover him while he worked on them, because soon enough the terrorists would know they were there. Mark himself had taken cover behind one of the small huts that stood in the middle of the square, probably once used as a selling point for middle-eastern food, carpets or water pipes. Now however it was abandoned and served its purpose well; the small stone building would provide him much more safety than a flimsy wooden stall. 

The commander's diffuser started beeping angrily as the man still tapped away on an ancient-looking keyboard. It distracted Mark for a second as he looked over to him; surrounded by explosives and wires. He looked nervous but above all highly concentrated, there in between two small buildings. He was out of the line of sight from the archway, but should the terrorists overrun Mark, they would find him easily. And thus Mark had to stop them, kill them before their feet even touched the market square, in order to keep his commander safe and make this mission a success. 

Mark looked away to focus on his own task, because the enemy would be coming any time soon now, no doubt. He slowed down his breathing, deep breaths through his lungs, in through his nose, out through his mouth. He blinked a few times, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He was ready, more ready than ever. Let them come. 

And just as he thought that, he heard them: angry screams and shouts, the rushing of feet towards them and the clinging of metal. Mark could only hope there wasn’t another one of those idiots with an RPG. He threw another quick glance at the commander. This time the man looked back briefly, gave a curt nod and set back to work. Mark nodded back before leaning out of his hiding spot and resting his gun against the side of the wall for a more precise aim. He looked along the iron sights of the flimsy rifle at the archway, where soon it would be swarming with enemies. Only a few seconds more and he would be faced with them. The men wearing robes, with masks and scarfs covering their heads. The men who had an arsenal of old weapons, like the old trusty AK-47, which jammed every now and then but which were modified and perhaps more dangerous than his own stock army rifle. Mark shook the creeping feeling of dread off himself. It would be no good if he was stiff with fear when they came. He had a job to do. 

The voices sounded close now, shouting words that Mark recognised by now, having served several months in Afghanistan, in different places. He didn’t understand the words, only knew they didnt mean any good. He didn’t have long to ponder over that fact, as then the terrorists rounded the corner and came at them. 

“Tangos in sight!” Mark shouted so that his commander would be aware of the oncoming threat. No sooner had he finished the announcement than he started firing, causing temporary chaos among the enemy as they ducked, fled and sought cover in order to find out where the fire was coming from. In that chaos, Mark managed to kill a good part of the first wave of terrorists. He had the element of surprise and was eager to use it. The men shouted hysterically among themselves, trampling over each other in order to find safety. Mark emptied his magazine on them and switched to his pistol to bring down as many as he could. 

He then pulled back behind the wall for a moment, both to take cover from the heated gunfire now sprayed on him as the enemy had found his position, and to reload his rifle and his pistol. He felt behind his back to make sure the commander's shotgun was still strapped to his back. He’d hate to lose it as the SAS operator had given it to him because, in his words, “he would need it more.” It left the commander with only a pistol to defend himself, but since Mark was protecting the both of them, he reasoned he needed all the firepower he could get. 

The fire on his position quietened down, and he heard the confusion behind him. Where did he go? Mark smirked to himself as he waited just a moment longer to keep the terrorists in the dark and make them come out of hiding. And when they did, Mark appeared from behind the wall again and let his bullets spray down on them. Most of them never knew what hit them. 

This way he fought a long battle against the terrorists. He kept leaping out of hiding when the enemy least expected it, in different places to cause chaos and confusion. At all times he kept one eye on the enemy, and one eye on his commander. He danced around expertly, switching between his rifle, pistol and the shotgun – when the enemies came up a little too close – and killed one terrorist after the other. His tactics paid off: not one of the enemies' bullets had hit their mark and he was always able to catch them by surprise. 

Yet it was tiring, and he couldn’t hold it up for long. So sometimes he retired to defending one position, anchoring it as he fought to defend their objective. Then once he had rested enough, he’d switch back to attacking their sides and where and when they least expected it. It was a little game he was playing, and it was starting to look like he was going to be the winner. 

Then the offensive weakened for a moment. It confused Mark while he wondered why they weren’t attacking anymore. It was quiet. He heard no more shouts and cries, and if he had been stupid he would have believed the battle was over. He took this quiet moment to catch his breath; his chest was heaving up and down after defending himself and the commander single-handedly. It couldn’t already be over, could it? 

Mark glanced at the commander, unsure and seeking for help, but the man was occupied with the bombs around him. Mark told himself to calm down for a moment, slow down his heart rate and release the tension in his hands. He needed to think. Had the other teams reached their objectives as well and were the terrorists now deciding which part of the town to defend first, or were they simply regrouping so they could storm their objective? Mark shuddered at the thought. His ammunition was dwindling fast and to be honest, so was his energy. He wasn’t used to such exercise out in the unforgiving heat of the sun, with all his gear on and battling enemies on his own. He was sweating and panting profusely, but he realised the fight wasn’t over yet. 

Then he saw something fly past. A small, dark object passed him and made its way to the dusty market floor, not far away from him but close to the commander. In shock he realised what it was before it had even landed. 

A grenade. 

Behind him he heard shouts, men crying with renewed vigour. The shouting seemed distant to Mark as he watched the grenade, which seemed to be flying in slow motion. He saw his commander looking up and watching it too, baffled realisation written all over his face. The men had regrouped and were going to overrun them. The grenade, the sudden push, they were no longer tactless and chaotic. These terrorists had a cunning plan. 

But Mark wouldn’t let them execute it. 

Without a second thought, Mark hurled himself towards the grenade. The commander watched him, too perplexed to shout anything at him and as still as stone. Mark snatched the grenade out of the air just before it hit the ground and flung it back to where it came from. He aimed it at the arch, the beautiful arch, just as a group of rushing terrorists came at them. It exploded before it hit it though, but it did manage to collapse a part of the archway right on top of the heads of the tangos. With dreadful cries they were crushed, and Mark couldn’t shake off the thought that his teammates had cried like that when they were crushed by that building, earlier when the RPG had killed them. It felt like a worthy revenge. 

“No, you fool-“ The rough voice of the commander broke through Mark's chivalrous thoughts as he lay there on the sandy floor, right where he had picked up the primed grenade and had tossed it back. He looked at where the commander was sitting, wide-eyed and pale-faced. He looked angry yet astonished, his mouth opening and closing as he seemed to be deciding whether to praise the boy or shout at him. He didn’t get the chance to do either, because the terrorists had fought through the cloud of dust and rubbish and were picking up their charge where they had left it. The archway was a good deal smaller now, meaning that not many could come to them at a time, but they were still a threat. 

Mark realised that too late as he picked himself up from the floor and hastened to his position. It wasn’t a large distance and he should’ve been able to have covered it without a scratch. But the shock of the grenade slowed him down and he wasn’t reacting as fast as he usually would. About a metre away from his cover, fate finally caught up with Mark. 

A dulled _thud_ and a searing pain in his thigh. Time seemed to stand still, sound seemed to have been muted. He had been shot. 

Wobbling on his legs, Mark got himself to safety. He cursed as he leaned against the stone wall and looked down his body. A stray bullet had torn its way into the fabric of his combat trousers and had penetrated his flesh. Mark wasn’t sure what made his heart beat faster with fear; the pulsing pain in his left thigh or the fact that there was already a large red stain around the wound. Cursing again, Mark looked around desperately for a solution. 

But there simply was none. 

The commander was still busy with these fucking bombs, and the enemy was upon them. Nobody was going to help him. But he’d be damned if he didn’t die fighting and holding his position until the final moment. 

And thus he grabbed his thigh with one hand, gritting his teeth and inhaling sharply as he put pressure on the wound. He leaned awkwardly against the wall in order to give himself some balance and peeked around the corner. In his other hand was his gun, that he brought out behind the wall as well, which suddenly took a great effort. Then he opened fire on the storming terrorists. 

Mercilessly, fiercely and relentlessly, Mark fought the enemy. He clutched his wound as men fell to his bullets before him, determined not to die the same way they did. He’d defend himself and the commander to his last breath if he had to. He wouldn’t fail. 

Mark returned fire bravely at the seemingly endless push of terrorists, but now his energy was draining fast. He was getting tired, could barely stand on his legs and even more so hold the gun in his hands. Sweat started to drip from his forehead and into his eyes, clouding his vision. Frustrated, he threw his gloves off carelessly. They were no good now they were all damp from the sweat and blood. 

Every quiet moment he took the opportunity to go back into hiding and reload his guns with his bloody, shaky hands. He groaned in pain every time he moved, the ammunition slipping out of his hands. He was frustrated as he worked his best to operate effectively under these terrible conditions. 

Pressing himself against the wall again, Mark propped himself up against it as he was going to return to the battle, probably for the last time. He could no longer stand on his wounded leg and his trousers were soaked in blood. The hand gripping the wound was warm and wet, the hand holding the gun was trembling and heavy. 

At least it’d be an honourable way to die, he told himself. 

“Keep it up boy, the end is near.” A loud voice suddenly sounded next to him, announcing the arrival of help at last. Mark couldn’t find the energy to agree that, indeed, the end was near for him. 

The commander returned fire together with Mark now. To the latter’s surprise, they dealt swiftly with the threat and within minutes only a few of them were still standing. These terrorists were hiding strategically, waiting for Mark and the commander to pop their heads out so that they could blast them off their necks. With a pang of fear Mark realised they were trapped, and this battle wasn’t going to end for hours. Would he really bleed out, just like that? 

Mark pulled back slightly to catch his breath. He bit his lip as he tried to keep himself from groaning in pain, his eyes searching the commander’s. The man looked back with a cheeky smirk, which turned into a wide grin as he saw his partner’s exhausted face. It was as if he was trying to cheer him up, boost his morale, but Mark found no energy left to smile back. Then the commander did something Mark didn’t expect. He fumbled in the pockets of his fatigues and got two strange looking devices out. They looked like a pair of strange long explosives, but instead of asking, Mark settled on just watching his commander. Not much he could do now, anyway. 

“It’s a bit too close but hey, I like to live dangerously.” The commander shrugged with that familiar grin of his, then walked backwards slightly, keeping to the safety of the cover but giving himself enough space to throw his devices over the flat roof. Mark figured he tossed them in the general direction of where the terrorists were, and waited as the commander set them off. Only, there was no explosion. 

A strange hissing sound emerged from behind the building. Mark craned his neck to have a look, but the commander was next to him again in an instant and gripped his shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

The naughty glint in his eyes amused Mark, wondering what his commander was talking about. Yet he couldn’t move his lips to ask. 

“Not supposed to use ‘em... But how else will we get out of this hell hole?” He winked at Mark. 

Mark was starting to detect a strange smell. He stuck his nose against the elbow of the arm not holding the wound as he heard coughing behind him. Then choking, suffocating noises could be heard and Mark looked at the commander with wide eyes. 

_Gas?_

The commander covered his nose as well as he nodded and grinned. 

This man was a maniac. Confirmed. 

Suddenly, Mark’s legs gave out. He slumped down against the wall, groaning and his face retorted in pain. He never saw how the commander’s smile fell from his face and turned to a worried frown. 

“Oi, did you breathe it? Did you breathe the-” The commander shouted at him as he kneeled down beside his soldier. He didn’t need to look him over more than once. Immediately his eyes spotted the blood. He parted Mark’s legs slightly as if to reassure himself that the young man had indeed been wounded. “You’re... You’re shot.” 

Mark allowed the commander to remove his hand and cover the wound with his own. If Mark had the energy left to blush, he would while he stared tiredly at the older man’s hand on his thigh. The hand was cold despite the surroundings feeling so warm. It lay on his leg like a seal, keeping the blood from pouring out. Mark's eyes were drooping and he rested his head against the wall. He felt the life seeping out of him. 

“No, boy, stay with me! Don’t you bloody close your eyes!” The commander shouted, slapping Mark’s face. It helped, for Mark’s eyes shot open. He looked at the SAS operator fearfully. 

“Sir, I’m- I’m-” His voice wasn’t more than a whisper. 

“No you’re not. I-” The commander seemed frustrated as he reached for his portophone and switched it on. “I need evac. Right. Fucking. Now.” He shouted into the device. Mark didn’t hear any reply, but apparently there had been one because the commander continued shouting: “Yes, the bombs have been diffused. Who cares?” Silence. “I have a wounded soldier here!” Silence. “Are all tangos dead? Fuck if I know! He needs medical care now!” Silence. “Tell them they’ll be eating sand for the next weeks if they’re too late!” Silence. “Fuck you!” 

It didn’t seem like the best way to get help to Mark, but he didn’t care. The wounded soldier told himself to hold on for a little while longer until the evac came. The commander would probably not put his soul to rest if he died before the evac he had threatened the medical staff for would arrive. 

Turning the portophone off, the commander turned to him. “Can you walk? We have to get to a point where the helicopter can land.” He asked while he pulled Mark’s scarf off his neck and wrapped it around his thigh. Not too gently, not too rough. Mark hissed as he tightened it. 

It was easier to breath without the scarf and it felt nice when the wind blew past his now exposed sweaty skin. Most of the soldiers had taken to wearing scarfs for protection should they be caught in a sandstorm. 

Mark nodded, but groaned loudly as the commander helped him up and nearly fell back on the floor were it not for the support the commander offered him. 

“C’mon boy, don’t be a sissy now. We have to get you to safety.” He sounded impatient, and slowly they started moving. 

The gas had disappeared, leaving only the bodies of their enemies littered over the floor. Mark tried not to look at them. He focused on placing his feet, one after the other, as the commander helped him through that battlefield to the demolished archway. He was telling Mark how this mission was going to end, them being carried to safety by a helicopter and then squads of soldiers entering the town to clean up. Bury the fallen, count the dead. Dispose of the bombs and leave this devastated town to its hungry and poor people. It’s how things went here in Afghanistan. Protocol of the Allies fighting to free the country of the Taliban. It seemed wrong. 

But Mark wasn’t listening. His breathing came painful now, the wound on his thigh throbbing against the already blood-soaked scarf. And still the commander would urge him on, mostly by calling him a wuss every time he groaned in pain. Mark didn’t have the energy to wonder about the change that had come over his superior. 

It seemed like they had been walking for an eternity, and Mark was only keeping up because the commander would slap him every time he seemed to be fading away. He knew his cheek must be bruised by now, but figured it was for a good reason. Just as he began to wonder when they would finally reach the evac zone, the commander gently dropped him. He put his soldier down propped up against a wall and walked off to shout angrily at his portophone once again. Mark was struggling to keep his eyes open. 

He noticed they were in a large square and everything around them was dead quiet apart from the warm wind rushing past them. He realised he felt thirsty, but his water bottle was in his pack behind him and he was way too exhausted to try and reach for it. His fingers felt stiff and his whole body was cramped. It wouldn’t be bad to rest for a bit, close his eyes for a while as they waited for the evac... 

A slap against his cheek. 

“Stay with me, soldier!” 

The commander was right in front of him, squatting on the floor when Mark opened his eyes again. 

“The evac’s not far off. Hold on for a little while longer.” he said and glanced down at the bleeding wound on Mark’s thigh. Somehow his gaze made Mark feel uncomfortable. 

“Water.” Mark whispered. 

The commander nodded and reached behind him to fetch his own bottle of water. He opened it for him and brought it to his lips. Mark drank in silence and felt a little stream of life seeping back inside him with every gulp, the water making him feel slightly better. 

“Maybe a sunstroke as well...” The commander muttered as he removed his own scarf. He moistened the fabric with water from Mark’s bottle and put it in the boy’s neck. The water wasn’t exactly cool, but the commander hoped it would help his soldier to cool down nonetheless. 

Then they sat waiting like that in silence, the commander occasionally taking the scarf from Mark’s neck to wet his forehead or wrists. Mark simply tried to focus on his breathing and not mind the commander fussing over him so much. 

After ages the evac arrived, and by that time Mark legitimately felt like passing out. The members of the medical team on board helped him inside the helicopter and he did pass out as soon as he was put safely on a stretcher and was under their care. The medical staff immediately set to work under the judging eye of the SAS operator as the helicopter took off. 

And even though Mark was unconscious, the commander never lost him out of sight. 

Even now. 

 

\-- 

Mark woke up to a beeping sound. He thought it was his alarm and was scared he had slept through it – how long had it been beeping for? – but then he realised his alarm didn’t sound like this at all. It was the monotone noise of a machine, a machine that could be found in... 

A hospital. 

Mark's eyes shot open with a start. The sudden light hurt them so much that he immediately closed them again, not having been able to make out his surroundings at all. His breathing picked up and so did the beeping noise, notifying Mark that his heart was beating faster and faster. He was in a hospital, but why? Where was he? What had happened? When he tested his muscles to make sure he could still move them, he started to remember. Regrettably so. A numb pain seared through his left leg, from his toes up to his hip. He groaned softly and allowed the memories of that day – or when had it been? – to flood back into his mind. 

His whole squad, wiped out save for him and his commander. Their last stand at the market square. Heroically saving the commander of the grenade, only to be shot in his leg in the progress. Then the struggle to stay up and doing his duty. Being saved by the commander... Mark figured he had probably passed out after that. Still, he felt no gratitude towards the older man. Not a single bit. 

“Boy!” 

Speaking of the devil. 

The commander's voice boomed through the hospital tent, and Mark couldn’t stop himself from opening his painful eyes and looking at the man approaching him. He seemed to be fine, not a single scratch on his skin or a rip in his clothes. Mark wondered why he had nearly lost his own life for this man. 

“Boy, good to see you’re awake. I’ve been waiting.” The commander said as soon as he stood at the end of Mark's bed, looking at the young soldier rather expectantly. When Mark didn’t greet him back, he continued: “Took a fair beating out there, but I never worried you wouldn’t make it. Tough boy, you are.” 

Mark just glared at him. He assumed it had been several days since he had lost consciousness, and he was surprised to hear the commander had been waiting around for him. To say the least, he was confused. And thus he kept his mouth shut and waited for an explanation. 

“Right. Speaking of which, I know someone who can use a tough lad like you.” The commander continued, suddenly looking out of place because of the lack of reaction coming from the wounded soldier. 

Mark cocked an eyebrow at him, not impressed with his story, and waited patiently for more. He was in a hospital with a fucked up leg. He had time on his hands. 

“To tell you the truth... I was astonished by your performance out there. We could use someone like you, young though you may be. I would refer you to my major, only...” 

“You don’t know my name.” Mark interrupted him, his voice cracking and his throat dry as he hadn’t spoken or drunk for a long time. 

“No...” Suddenly, the commander looked rather guilty. 

“Because you didn’t think it was worth it to learn our names. Because you thought we were just numbers.” Mark blurted out. He was angry, and suddenly he felt like letting all his hatred towards his superior out. 

The commander sighed. “Here, I’ll tell you my nickname if that will satisfy your hatred, princess. It’s Smoke. Can’t tell you anymore, but if you want to find out, you should accept my offer.” 

Mark could only just keep himself from asking the man in front of him why on earth he’d want to know more about him. His nickname wasn’t a mystery either. It resembled the toxic smoke bombs he threw. Nothing surprising there. Mark was not impressed with him at all. What was he thinking? 

“Look, you are a very promising soldier indeed. I don’t want you to waste your talents in the army. And not in a technical division either. All losers there.” Smoke waved his hand dismissively. “You belong to a specialist group. With some training, you could be just like us. We could even work together in the future. How does that sound?” The SAS operator was getting impatient but he seemed to be doing his stinking best to make the offer sound appealing. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t work on Mark at all. 

The young soldier snorted. “Work together? With you? I don’t know if you remember, but my friends died because of your leadership. I’d rather not meet you again for the rest of my life, if that improves my chances of staying alive.” Mark folded his arms in front of his chest and stared the man down. 

The commander seemed genuinely surprised by the way a man with a lower rank talked back to him. It appeared to Mark that he saw himself as some kind of awesome god everybody wanted to be around with. But not him. He’d be happy to rid himself of the commander for the rest of his life. 

His superior stood gaping at him, apparently not quite sure if he should get angry or if he should be more tactful. “Okay... Well, I’m sorry about your mates, lad. I really am. But I can’t help it if they were stupid numbskulls who weren’t looking out for themselves. Just by that mission alone you’ve shown you’re much better than they are. Were.” Smoke smiled awkwardly for a moment. “Anyway, you think before you act. You’ve got brains. The SAS could use them.” 

Mark rolled his eyes when the commander started the emotional talk only to get back on his offer. He wondered if the man actually regretted the deaths he caused or not. “I’m not coming with you.” 

It was the commander’s turn to snort. “Stubborn, I like that. You know, I could just see your name on your medical record. It’s right here on the board attached to your bed. So either you tell me your name yourself and introduce yourself properly, or I’ll take your name, refer you to my major and we’re done.” 

Glaring at the man in front of him, Mark bit his lip. He hated to admit it, but he was rather intrigued by him. He was unpredictable; Mark could never properly gauge his character. But his pathetic plan for their mission had directly led to the deaths of Mark’s fellows. He could never forgive the commander for having to have witnessed those. He cast his eyes away from the man and stared at his hands on the stark white sheet that lay over his body. He lost their unofficial staring contest. 

“Chandar. Mark Chandar.” 

He looked back up to find the commander grinning widely. 

“Looking forward to having you on the team, Mark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mute is a super soldier okay
> 
> Just a little note I wanted to throw out there before anyone starts complaining: Yes, Smoke isn't behaving like a professional SAS operator would. The SAS would never risk someone's life. But to fit the story, I made Smoke a little more reckless than what would be allowed. However to get a good impression of the SAS I highly recommend you watch the movie 6 Days! It's great!
> 
> Thanks for reading c:


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might feel a bit all over the place, but that's because it's linking the previous chapter to the next. It's also a bit shorter than the previous two.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy c:

It had been weeks since Mark had landed in the hospital tent of the camp, lying in bed uselessly with his wounded leg. Of course he was lucky to have even made it out alive, of course it could have all ended much worse, including their deaths, but he was already sick and tired of the boredom. There were no other injured men in the tent who could keep him company. All he heard were the typical hospital sounds, at least as typical as it could get in a tent that functioned as a medical bay out in the wilderness and unforgiving heat and dryness of the desert. Besides that, he heard the voices of men and women moving about outside, and shouts and gunshots coming from the small area they had dubbed “training facility” but was really just a boring old bit of the desert, as everything here was. 

From time to time the doctor opened the flaps of the tent so warm air could blow through Mark's hair, which made him long to go for a walk outside, or to do anything at all that didn’t include in him lying about in a hospital bed all day. A few soldiers and superiors had visited him and had asked for stories, but apart from that it was quiet in the tent and Mark wanted to do nothing more than hop out of bed and pick up his gun. Unfortunately he could hardly stand as his leg was still too weak. Blasted injuries. 

The SAS had left a day after their mission, and Smoke hadn’t been in the hospital again to check up on Mark. There could be two explanations for that, Mark mused as he had nothing better to do than contemplate his life decisions. Smoke had either started to doubt his invitation for Mark to join the SAS, or he had gotten cold feet about visiting Mark once again. 

The last explanation seemed the likeliest. From their last conversation Mark had learned Smoke was a man who was in his element on the battlefield, but not during social interactions. He lacked the social skills, the emotions to come across as more than a blunt, heartless Londoner. It amused Mark as well as it annoyed him. Smoke was probably scared that Mark would change his mind if he visited again and messed things up with his wording and arrogant character. So he hadn’t visited again. 

But the thing was, the more Mark thought about the offer, the more determined and convinced he was to accept it. His future lay wide open, so... why not? He could at least try, and if it all ended in nothing, he could join a technical division as he had always wanted. The small possibility of joining the famous, respected SAS excited him. He had to admit he couldn’t wait to get started on the training, but for the time being it looked like he was going nowhere. 

Mark had discussed the possibility of healing back in the UK with his doctor, since he would have to follow a rehabilitation course in his home country anyway. Sadly he was too weak to travel at the moment, and would have to wait for the next transportation plane to come pick him up. Mark hadn’t told the doctor about Smoke’s invitation. He hadn’t told anybody. After losing so many of the men he saw as brothers during that one fateful mission, he felt he was distancing himself from the others. They hadn’t seen what he had. Hadn’t lived through what he had. 

All because of that one man he hated more than anything. That one man who fucked up his world. So why was he determined to follow him? Mark didn’t have the answer at that moment. 

 

\-- 

A year later

 

 _‘Who dares wins’_

That was written on a metal plate that hung on the red brick-wall building Mark found himself in front of. He still couldn’t quite believe it himself as he stood gaping at the unfriendly-looking, large vast buildings. 

Hours, weeks and months of painful, frustrating rehabilitation had passed. And after that, another set of hours, weeks and months had passed in which the selection procedure had thrown everything at him. But he had emerged successful. 

Mark pulled the strap of his bag in which he carried his belongings a little tighter over his shoulder and bit his lip. Upon arriving home from Afghanistan half a year ago, he had received a letter from the mayor of the 22SAS, mentioning one of his ‘trusted men’ had slipped him his name and inviting him to the selection. Logically, Mark had been excited. Smoke had kept his word, and that small fact made his heart jump. He had been serious about Mark joining the SAS. 

Then he doubted. Was he really up for this? He had been so sure back in the isolated hospital in Afghanistan, but now worries gave him a nagging feeling of uncertainty. It might have been the medicines and pain killers that had made him feel like joining the SAS was a good idea, but then, sober and healed, half a year later, he wasn’t so determined anymore. He had only just gotten back in shape, had only just overcome his nightmares of that one horror mission in the unknown town, had only just started to think about forgiving the one man who put him through this. 

And now he was asked to follow said man into a secret specialist force. He was confused at what he wanted in his life. He could not forget what had happened in Afghanistan, could not stuff away the horrifying memories in the back of his head. He just couldn't. He even came to do realise his quiet life in a technical division that he wanted would always be interrupted by doubts, thoughts and memories. 

Still, Mark was a year older, a year wiser and a year stronger. He was no longer the young, scardy boy in Afghanistan anymore. He had seen life could be taken without explanation, without excuse, without any last goodbyes. It had fuelled his own will to live. He wanted to do something about all the violence in the world. He wanted to help protect the innocent. He wanted to remove the people who threatened peace. And so, in a crazy, fleeting moment, Mark had signed up for the United Kingdom Special Forces Selection: 

Join the SAS. 

He had started it as a joke. Take up the commander’s offer. See how far he could come. Show that prick who called himself a ‘leader’ in Afghanistan. 

Still having his dream of joining a technical division - buried deep in the back of his head now - he tried for the SAS several months ago. But as time went on and he passed every part of the selection with full marks, his doubts faded gradually. It wasn’t a joke anymore. He was seriously focused and at one point he found himself doing whatever it took to join this elite force. 

The training had been long, hard and exhausting, with his fellows being sent away or leaving on their own accord. Mark now understood why it was said to be one of the toughest selections in the world. But he was determined: he would face every exhausting mission they threw at him during the selection in order to join the SAS. Luckily he was as promising as all of his superiors had always told him. He had done things that placed him among the best soldiers that ever existed. He only had to prove himself. 

But now that he stood in front of the building, he felt unsure. 

Unsure about meeting his old commander again. 

It had taken him a long time to get over seeing his fellow soldiers die, and he still hadn’t healed fully. Sure, the selection had made him a hardened soldier, but he was afraid that seeing his old commander would trigger memories he had so desperately tried to push away. Wouldn't look good on him to have a mental breakdown on his first day. Still, the army's therapists had encouraged him to go through with the selection and meet the man who called himself Smoke in order to process what had happened in Afghanistan. 

He was basically joining one of the best elite forces in the world on his doctor's advice. 

A hand held his shoulder briefly. Mark’s thoughts returned to the here and now with a start. He sighed and looked around to find the two other soldiers who had made it through the selection and were joining the SAS with him. They nodded at each other and smiled briefly, knowing all three of them had fought so hard to be here. Mark was happy they were with him. The world he was about to enter was a big and rough one, and he was glad with some familiar faces. 

The three of them entered together in silence. 

Inside they were to meet the major, all individually, and they were quite nervous to be introduced to the rest of the 22SAS. The men in here were heroes, and Mark had been fascinated with them for as long as he could remember. Joining the SAS had been a boy’s dream he had never expected to fulfil, so it was strange to be here after all that had happened. And the commander was to blame. 

Such a funny twist of fate. 

The base was exactly as you’d expect it. Stuffy, warm and ancient. All buildings were made of red bricks that didn’t allow for much light to get inside, so every corridor, hall and room was pretty gloomy. Besides that, it was a maze. If an off-duty soldier hadn’t shown them the way to get to the major’s office, they’d surely have lost their way. Mark craned his neck to get a look at his new home from home. He saw cozy-looking rooms, with various men sitting and hanging around them, throwing curious peeks at the newcomers and talking in hushed voices as they passed. 

After Mark felt like he had seen every corner of the base, they finally arrived at the major’s office. Mark was to go first, as they would be called in alphabetical order. They waited around quietly, not quite comfortable yet in their new surroundings. They were basically recruits, after all, even though they had been through one of the toughest selections in the world. They still had to prove themselves. 

Sooner than he liked, Mark was summoned to the major’s office. He waved unsurely at the other two before he entered the dark room that stank of cigarettes. Apparently smoking inside was allowed if you were the major of the SAS. 

The man, who looked to be in his early sixties, turned around in his chair as Mark entered. He sat lazily in his leather seat, his cigarette between his fat fingers. Mark quietly wondered if this man had ever been in active journey. Definitely not in this condition. 

“Chandar! Come in, heard so many good things about you.” His voice was hoarse because of the number of cigarettes he had smoked in his life. Mark smiled faintly at the man as he closed the door behind him and stood at rest in front of the major’s desk, looking the man calmly in the face. “Welcome to 22SAS, and my squadron in particular. In a week or so you will be introduced to your troop and your captain, but I’m afraid they’re gone for a mission now.” The major laughed out loud, a sound none too pleasant and highly unnecessary to Mark. When he quieted down, he continued: “So, you’re Porter’s guy. That lad even came in here to vouch for you, even though we had already sent you your invitation letter anyway. He talked his captain’s ears off about you.” 

Those words confused Mark. Who was he talking about? Who had talked about him? _Smoke?_ What? “Sir?” 

Apparently it confused the major that Mark was confused. The smile vanished off his face. “Aren’t you Mark Chandar?” 

“I am, sir.” Mark responded immediately, not wanting to look like an imposter. 

“Then you’ve met Porter, he was your commander in Afghanistan. Do you not remember? Or- ah, has the filthy rat not given you his name? That’s so typical...” The major shook his head and Mark watched him as he mumbled to himself before giving the man in front of him an explanation: “James Porter is codenamed Smoke, the devil who led your team during the operation in Afghanistan. And if I may believe his stories, I must thank you. Would have lost the idiot if it wasn’t for you, I heard.” 

“Oh,” Mark stammered, unsure of how to deal with the compliment. He just gave the commander a faint smile and a nod before his thoughts exploded in his head with this new information. He now knew Smoke's real name. After months of secretly thinking, wondering and pondering about his mysterious old commander, he finally found out. 

“I have assigned you to his troop. You’ll see him in about a week.” 

Mark swallowed. That was a bit fast. And what are the chances? 

His mind had been two-faced about the commander for a whole year. On the one side he didn’t want to see the commander ever again. He’d caused his whole world to go to shit, and Mark hated him for that. Hated his arrogance, hated his whole being. But on the other side he yearned to see him again, for some reason. He didn’t know what made the careless, chaotic man so interesting to him. Nothing should. But yet Mark was intrigued by him and had followed him to the SAS, something he had told himself not to do while he was rehabilitating. 

But he had felt some kind of harmony, a cooperation between himself and the odd commander as they fought together in Afghanistan. It had felt as if they had known each other’s every movement, as if they could read each other's minds. A team that worked together so well could replace a whole squad. Mark had come to realise his talents belonged to the battlefield after all, and they belonged to be used in alliance with his old commander. He felt like they had meant to be a team. 

Of course, that was odd. The man he blamed for the death of his old pals – bless them – was the exact same man he felt like he had to join forces with. The only explanation the young lad had for his own decision to follow Smoke into the SAS, was that he believed they were meant to be a team. Now that he had seen the horrors of Afghanistan, he felt like he had to put his life to good use. 

Apparently, this was it. 

“He’s a good operator. Very innovative and creative. But the mess he sometimes gets himself into around here... Boy, I’ll tell you now, if you are never summoned to my office again, that’s a good thing. Means you don’t get into trouble. But if you do, like him... On several occasions I’ve wondered if I should give him the RTU.” The man said as he seemed to get lost in thought over the many things Smoke had done in his reckless years with the SAS. 

Mark’s eyes widened. RTU? The commander? That meant _Return To Unit_ , the heaviest punishment you could get. Once again Mark was annoyed with the commander. What if he had spent all these months trying to join the SAS, only to find out the one he was after had been demoted? It had been Smoke’s will he joined, it would be disappointing if he didn’t get to work with him again. 

After all this news, the major gave Mark some general information on how things were run here at Hereford Base. Mark had to admit he wasn’t really listening. He was wondering, worrying, overthinking. Would Smoke still recognise him? And how should he react? What would happen if they saw each other again? Would Mark be happy? Angry? Sad? Would Smoke still care about him, as he had done so strangely in Afghanistan? Only for him? 

Mark could only guess and wait for the day they’d meet again. Leave it to chance. 

 

\-- 

Mark spent his days waiting for his team thumb twirling and wandering around aimlessly at Hereford Base. He tried to familiarise himself with his new surroundings while he tried not to think about meeting his old commander again. Now that Mark was here and he wasn’t, joining the SAS seemed a crazy idea all of a sudden. Why had he come here? Hadn't he sworn to join a technical division? Isn’t that where his heart lay? Mark was starting to have doubts again. 

Hereford Base turned out to be a professional base; featuring everything an elite soldier like them needed. Barracks, a large canteen, a gym, a workshop and a shooting range. There were hundreds of things for him to do; from physical training to trying out new weapons. Mark soon got attached to the MP5K submachine gun and the M590A1 shotgun. He played around with those at the range, taking advice from older SAS members that happened to be around and watched him practise. They were quite impressed with his skills. For a recruit his age, that is. 

He also stuck to the other two new recruits still, even though they had been assigned to their own teams. Mark liked talking to them to take his mind of things. They talked about nothing in particular, but the superficial subjects kept his thoughts at bay. It reminded him that there were also sane people in here, and that not everyone was a maniac like Smoke. 

Speaking of the devil, he asked some of the other people about his new team. About the missions he would be put on, the men he was joining, his new captain, and one name in particular... 

Smoke. 

Or Porter. 

Or James. 

What should he call him? 

Mark hoped the stories of other soldiers about his old commander would comfort him. Show him that in this professional field Smoke wasn’t a completely senseless war machine without a plan. 

But alas, he was proven wrong. 

The soldiers laughed at the name. Of course they knew who he was. The jester of the base. All the men Mark spoke to about his former commander, agreed that the man wasn’t quite right in the head. Always getting into trouble; not following orders, or making his own plans in the middle of a mission. That he endangered others wasn’t a surprise to Mark. His tactics were chaotic, and as long as he made it out alive, he thought a mission was a success. Yet Mark would have expected Smoke was more serious in the SAS. He had been wrong. 

The stories discomforted Mark greatly. Had he really chased a madman here? What was he even thinking coming here? 

Though, they also talked about Smoke with reverence. He was brilliant when it came to his ‘experiments', as they called it, even though they were supposed to be illegal to be used on enemies according to the Geneva Conventions. His ‘toxic babes' had saved the soldiers’ lives more than once and they were all thankful for that. Mark didn’t dare ask who or what the toxic babes were. 

Mark was told Smoke was a chaotic man who couldn’t hold a serious conversation for more than 5 minutes, but he was well-respected among his fellows. That the man hadn’t been gifted with social skills, Mark already knew. He just hoped the man would prove to be a bit more relaxed and friendlier once Mark was his equal. He didn’t need his behaviour of Afghanistan all over again. 

The friendly chats with his colleagues had set Mark at ease about the SAS. Maybe not about Smoke, but he would have to see about that by the time he met the man again. He dreaded that one moment that lay in the near-future, yet he also looked forward to it. To put it simply, Mark didn’t know exactly how he felt about it. And thus he tried to forget as well as he could. 

Days passed and Mark was starting to feel right at home at Hereford Base. This was where he belonged. Not in some technical unit. No. He belonged with the guys who fought hardest of them all to defend queen and country. Although, he did find the workshop of the base and felt the old love for engineering right in his heart, and decided he should come here every now and then. Maybe work on a project he’d been thinking of lately. 

Perhaps. Who knows. 

Even though Mark didn’t start his own project, he did help out others in the workshop and soon earned a reputation for his expert handicraft. He blew the experienced ops’ minds with his expertise; since he was so young, they didn’t expect him to have such a great knowledge of electrical engineering. They all told him to do something with his talents, as he could become a great asset of the SAS that way. Mark only nodded quietly, humbled by their compliments yet still unsure of how he could be of any help. He wasn’t quite sure what the SAS could need of him, so he remained in the workshop from time to time, working quietly with others. 

It took his mind off things. Until Smoke returned.


	5. Chapter 4

The day Mark would meet his old commander again came sooner than he had expected. 

It was only his fifth day at 22 SAS in Hereford Base and he was enjoying a game of chess in the canteen with one of his fellow operators, a quiet guy who liked to think more than act. A guy like him. His name was Kenneth and the two calm souls got along quite well in this base full of rowdy manly men, often taking to sophisticated discussions and mind games rather than the pillow fights the other men organised and that were a little bit too rough to their liking. Only last week a guy had lost a few teeth in one of those fights, making Mark wonder what they put in those pillows. Certainly not feathers. 

Kenneth was a nice guy, but Mark had to admit he used him to kill time with while he anxiously waited until his old commander, or Smoke, or James Porter, or however he was supposed to call him, returned. A moment he dreaded, but wasn't thinking of right now. Definitely not _expecting_ now, in any case. 

“Check mate.” Mark said with a grin as his hand hovered over the board and their chess pieces to make the winning move, but he got rudely interrupted. 

The returning squad was announced by a whole lot of noise. Mark and his opponent looked up from their game, annoyed at the racket. The men entering the canteen shouted, stamped and moved as if everyone had to know they were back. A few more people looked up, either greeting them or cursing them for disturbing the quiet peace that hung in the eating facility right after lunch, when most men had left to get some training. 

At that point, Mark didn’t know what he was looking at. Just a bunch of guys – there were so many here and they all looked the same – walking through the corridor into the canteen, where he sat with Kenneth, obviously looking for some food. Sadly for them, the kitchen had closed half an hour ago. Mark and his friend were about to return to their game when they heard a surprised voice shout: 

“Mark?!” 

The sea of people parted as one man made his way to the front of the group. It was Smoke. The voices quietened down a bit as everybody stood to watch. Mark swallowed and his heart skipped a beat. All the muscles in his body were tense and he was glued to his seat. This was what he had been waiting for. 

They stared at each other for a long moment while millions of thoughts raced through Mark's head. Smoke was the first to speak up. 

“You barmy bastard, took up the offer anyway huh? Why did nobody tell me?” He looked around at the group of people around him with a grin, as if any one of them had known Mark would join the SAS. 

People started sniggering and the volume of their voices started to rise again as they discussed the scene unfolding before them. Mark was still sitting in his seat, slightly turned towards all the commotion. He felt his face heating up with all the attention he got, and silently wished he could’ve met Smoke without all these people around. 

“It's Mark!” Smoke shouted again as if nobody had realised it yet. It seemed the only one who couldn’t believe Mark was here was Smoke himself. He turned to the others, telling them about how he was ‘the boy in Afghanistan I told you about, y'know?’. The others laughed at him and clapped him on the shoulders as if he was a lunatic. Mark himself still hadn’t said a word as he sat watching. What should he do? 

One of the older men of the group stepped forwards and went up to Mark, telling Smoke as he passed him: “You’ve already told us, son,” earning laughs from the whole group. It didn’t discourage Smoke though as he continued retelling their tale of what happened to them in Afghanistan, and Mark realised they had all heard the story before. It gave him a funny feeling in his stomach. 

The man approaching him, Mark figured, was Mike Baker, his captain. The major had told Mark about him. A real soldier and veteran, Mike had seen enough action to be made squad leader, being one of the oldest operators the SAS currently had. The age didn’t show on his face, though, as his hair was still black and greying slightly at the edges. He did have multiple wrinkles in his face, which made him look tough, but overall the man looked friendly and just. 

“You must be Chandar.” Baker said as he reached Mark. He held out his hand and Mark shook it obediently, nodding and smiling at the older man in front if him as he didn’t quite know what to say. He was still a bit overwhelmed. “I’m Mike Baker, or Thatcher if you like. Welcome to the 22SAS.” 

“Thank you sir.” Mark was able to muster the tiny words. His eyes shot from Thatcher’s face to Smoke who was still surrounded by his colleagues in the doorway. It was really him... Then his eyes shot back to Thatcher. 

“I would ask you to introduce yourself, but we’ve heard plenty from that idiot over there.” Thatcher said as he pointed in the general direction of Smoke with his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m sure you recognise him?” 

Mark nodded. 

“He couldn’t shut up about you as soon as he came back from that disastrous mission in Afghanistan. Said you had the real makes of a fine soldier. Said he’d asked you to join us. Worried if you would.” Thatcher chuckled. “I’m looking forward to see you in action, boy. We all have high expectations of you now.” Thatcher winked at him and Mark laughed back stupidly. 

He tried to take in all that information – the commander, who had appeared to not give a shit about the mission, Afghanistan and Mark and the other soldiers at all, had talked the other SAS guys' ears off about him? He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel honoured, awkward or embarrassed now. It didn’t matter anyway. Within a few strides Smoke stood at his table, smirking down at him. 

“I knew you’d follow me.” 

Feverishly, Mark decided to play it cool. Couldn't say he had been impressed with their teamwork a few months earlier, could he? “Figured I had something to prove.” Mark shrugged and smiled the best he could. 

Smoke chuckled. “Nah man, you missed me.” 

Mark nearly choked. “Certainly not.” He stammered. 

Thatcher cocked an eyebrow at his soldier. “Watch it, Porter. Or you’ll scare him away.” 

“Oh no sir, I wouldn’t want that.” Smoke said, winking at Mark. Mark gulped. Smoke’s eyes trailed down to the table he was sitting at before his hazel eyes found Mark's again. “Didn’t think you’d be one to play chess though... What a whimp.” 

Mark looked down at the table where the ongoing game of chess still sat motionlessly. That stung. He had enjoyed a good game of chess ever since he was a young boy, winning every game he played against his older brothers and friends until no one wanted to play with him anymore. He looked up at his friend on the other side of the table, who _did_ enjoy playing with him. 

“You just haven’t got the brains to play chess, Porter. The boy does.” Thatcher said bluntly. It made Mark chuckle. “And you better be nice to him from now on. He’s on our troop, you know.” 

Smoke’s smirk faded as he turned to the older man, his eyes widening upon hearing the unexpected information. “You knew? You knew he was with us but you didn’t say a damn thing?” 

It was Thatcher’s turn to chuckle. “Would it have stopped your nightmares, son?” And as Smoke seemed speechless for a moment – rather unusual for the usually so bold man – their leader took the opportunity to continue forging peace between the two parties. “I think it’s best if the two of you talked, because _I_ know for a fact that Afghanistan wasn’t all victory and heroic deeds.” Thatcher said softly with a knowing look at the smaller man next to him. 

“Mike-“ Smoke tried to interrupt, but he didn’t get the chance to. 

“I have read the files, Porter. I want you two to solve any remaining issues before you two can operate in my troop. Am I clear?” Thatcher didn’t have mercy for the smaller man. 

“What, right now?” Smoke's eyes flashed to Mark nervously. 

“Yes, now. And I trust you two to fix whatever has happened.” Thatcher said resolutely before he turned to Mark. “If you need any help, give me a shout.” And with that he strode off, followed reluctantly by Kenneth, even though he hadn’t been ordered to leave. Mark's chess friend shrugged at him unknowingly as he walked off, but of course Mark knew what Thatcher was talking about. He also knew the old man was right. Only by talking could they resolve this. But it came quite unexpected, and would Smoke want to talk about it? 

Smoke stood next to Mark's table awkwardly, gaping after his captain. The man looked completely out of place all of a sudden, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as if he was considering to follow Thatcher and get out of here. After a moment he seemed to realise that Mark was still there waiting apprehensively. He then seemed to accept his fate with an exaggerated sigh as he slowly took a seat in front of the younger soldier, who sat chewing the inside of his cheek nervously. 

Silence. 

Smoke stared at his hands on the table. Mark stared at him. The older man seemed to have gained a few wrinkle and scars since Mark last saw him, adding to his rough features. His beard was still as unkempt, a stubble that was too long to be called a stubble. He looked rather tired, his messy hair evidence of a few sleepless nights on mission. His hair, which was so dark blonde it was maybe closer to brown, was neither straight nor curly. Mark silently liked the way it playfully seemed to grow every way it wanted. But above all the man looked like he had more things to worry about than his looks, giving him a hint of manliness and wildness. 

“Didn't think you’d do it.” The silence was finally broken by Smoke, who resolved to his careless character because emotional talks were too difficult for him. He sat in his seat lazily, legs wide and arms draped over the table. He was a man who acted and never thought. Mark's complete opposite. 

“Do what?” Mark asked quietly. 

“Well, accept my offer of course.” Smoke shrugged. 

“I didn’t think I would either...” Mark's voice trailed off. 

“Then why did you?” A sudden keen interest could be heard in Smoke’s voice. 

But Mark didn’t answer. How could he explain the way he felt about how they had worked together in Afghanistan? How could he possibly talk about emotions with a man who didn’t seem to have any? Instead he decided to throw the question back at him. “Why did you want me to so badly?” 

Smoke seemed to be taken aback by the question. He stuttered, opened and closed his mouth once or twice before he settled with the answer: “Because you were a good soldier.” And he would explain no more. 

Mark figured he had to pull the answer out of him. “You seemed overjoyed to see me.” He tried with what he hoped was a cool smile. While on the inside, he was bursting with questions. 

Smoke smiled back just as coolly, but then his lazy, relaxed composure faltered. He looked away from Mark's deep brown eyes. He shuffled and even sat in his chair more decently. He... seemed hesitant, something Mark hadn’t seen before. It took a long while before Smoke replied to him. And when he did, his usual blunt voice was soft – or well, as soft as it can be. As if no one was allowed to hear what he said. “I just hoped you would.” 

The answer surprised Mark. Or maybe it didn't. He knew the old commander had had a soft spot for him, but until then he had wondered if he had only imagined it all those months ago. Mark stared at him, his eyes wide open and his lips slightly parted in surprise. _Did Smoke think the same after all?_ The older man gave him a stupid smile and a shrug, so uncomfortable he was having this conversation with Mark. 

“I hated you.” Mark said, his voice more hostile than he had meant it to be. He was trying to state a fact, not accuse his old commander of anything. But suddenly Smoke smiled softly, his rough face smoothened somewhat. 

“I realise that. You still blame me for your mates’ deaths.” It was Smoke’s turn to state facts. 

“Your plans were not solid. You led us into our graves.” Mark bit, defending himself. 

Apparently Smoke hadn’t expected him to be so fierce all of a sudden. He blinked once, quite taken aback, before he too defended himself. “They were not cut out for the job. End of.” 

“No, not end off. It was your task to lead us. You failed.” Mark said angrily, trying to keep his voice down as well as he could. From the corner of his eye he saw that Thatcher looked their way. But he would not let Smoke get away with this. He would have to admit he had been wrong so Mark could finally put the heavy burdens of his dead teammates to rest. 

Smoke _glared_ at him. He was a proud man, and would definitely not be spoken to the way this recruit was. 

“The others were numbers to me, yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t take their safety into regards as well as I should have, given my position. But that's me, endangering myself all the time. Of course it wasn't right to let those guys suffer for it, I saw that later. Or rather, I didn’t see it but I did realise it...” Smoke explained awkwardly, unused to having to admit his fault. He moved his hands around nervously while he talked, never daring to look Mark into the eyes. His cocky behaviour had shattered. “But I saw something in you, I don’t know what. Thay s why I took you with me to lead the team. So I could observe you, protect you. Only... You didn’t need that. You moved like a snake through water out there. I realised you naturally knew how to behave out on the battlefield. Especially when it was just us left. It felt like... like...” Smoke had started to blush. Mark was starting to feel sorry for him. 

“Like I was your shadow?” Mark finished his sentence. He knew that was what Smoke was thinking about. He knew, because he felt the same about their teamwork. 

Smoke suddenly shut up and stared at Mark. 

“Exactly.” He said quietly, then he laughed bitterly. “The major nearly had me kicked out because of that fiasco in Afghanistan.” 

Mark’s eyes widened ever so slightly, something Smoke didn’t see as he still didn’t dare to look Mark in the eyes. Was this the RTU the major had told him about? “Really?” 

Smoke grinned at him sourly. “It shouldn’t really be in the nature of a SAS operator to be so reckless and careless with other people’s lives. We’re here to protect, after all. And I... Well...” 

“Was too proud and arrogant to deal with the responsibility of some soldiers' lives.” Mark finished bluntly when Smoke didn’t quite know what to say. The older man glared at him for a moment. Mark stared back. Smoke's features softened once again. 

“You’re too smart for your own damn good.” Smoke said with thin lips. “But I suppose you're right. I made mistakes. The major had me punished. I was put on non-active duty for weeks. All I was allowed to do was training. No outings with the guys. No drinking. No fun. Just licking the major’s boots.” Smoke concluded in a disgusted tone. 

“So?” Mark asked, feeling like this conversation was progressing towards its end, which would be an apology from Smoke. Naturally. Mark wondered if he had it in him. 

“So what?” Smoke bit. 

When he found Mark looking at him meaningfully, he sighed heavily as if he was burdened with carrying the world on his shoulders. He looked away again, at the dirty canteen table and avoiding Mark’s gaze. He remained quiet for an eternity, probably battling with his own inner turmoil while Mark patiently waited for him to speak. The younger man had never been one of words anyway. 

“I’m sorry.” Smoke mumbled after long minutes had trickled past. 

“Excuse me?” Mark pretended he didn’t hear Smoke’s soft words. He wanted him to say it louder. Like he meant it. And to humiliate him just that little bit more. He felt like he deserved it after months of nightmares and rehabilitation. 

“I’m sorry, alright?” Smoke roared, a lot louder than the first time. The canteen went quiet for a moment and Mark could feel heads turn towards them without even being able to actually see them. He kept staring at Smoke. Smoke stared back now. A distressing quiet hung between them, like the moment between lightning and thunder. Mark let the tension hang around them for a little while longer before he simply replied: 

“Alright.” 

Smoke uttered a quiet sigh of relief, or maybe it was disbelief. He let his head hang on his shoulders for a moment while the other people in the canteen went back to their own conversations. Once the room was bustling with voices and activity again, Smoke looked back up to find Mark still watching him. He looked sour and even pained somewhat. The older man sighed once again. “I probably deserved that.” 

Mark nodded and with a small smile he swore to carefully remember the fact that Smoke couldn't handle public embarrassment very well. 

“I am happy you took up my offer though. I so hoped you would.” Smoke's voice trailed off as he seemed to smile to himself faintly. “You were so... different, from all the other men I’ve ever worked with. So... ...I don’t know.” Smoke gave a bitter laugh after a short silence. Mark was slightly sad his old commander couldn’t find the word he was searching for. He really wanted to know why he in particular had impressed all those months ago the man. “After all, what were the chances we’d have this conversation right here, right now?” 

Now Mark allowed a soft smile as well. Maybe Smoke wasn’t so bad after all. 

“So, what do you say?” Smoke asked awkwardly, wanting nothing more than this conversation to be over. Mark finally decided to show him some mercy. 

“I’ll let it rest now, but I can’t forgive you fully yet. You’ll have to redeem yourself.” Mark said resolutely, folding his arms on the table. Maybe Smoke wasn’t so bad, but Mark wouldn’t forgive him so easily. 

“What?” Smoke was dumbfounded. Whether that was because of the way Mark, a man much younger and more inexperienced than him, talked to him, or because he had hoped Mark would forgive him just like that, remained unclear. Mark rolled his eyes when the older man had apparently expected it all to be finished so easily after just one little talk. 

The younger man sighed and moved closer to explain what Smoke didn’t seem to understand: feelings. “You see, trust is like a piece of paper.” His explanation would have to be simple, so he chose his words carefully. “Once the piece of paper becomes crumpled up, even the tiniest wrinkle, it’ll never be the way it was before.” Mark watched his old commander without another word as the man seemed to struggle to take in that information. Would he understand? 

Smoke furrowed his brows and shuffled nervously in his seat. Of course he understood. Mark's words hit like a bomb shell; it was such a simple comparison yet his words held a sad truth. The piece of paper would forever be imperfect because of one deed that had made Mark lose his trust in him. He didn’t want that. But unfortunately his cool behaviour a year ago had led the one person he was ever impressed about to the conclusion that he couldn’t be trusted. It was a tragic truth. After a moment of silence, he looked back at Mark and said flatly: “I see.” 

Mark nodded, careful not to show any emotions on his face. He didn’t know how to feel. With the old commander sitting here opposite of him, he felt a sense of belonging. A familiar feeling of safety, as weird as it sounded. He felt like he had been wandering for a long time, lost, and now he was at home again. Where he belonged. They had lived through some shit together, and it was true Smoke was still alive because of Mark. But wasn’t that also true the other way around? Hadn’t Smoke helped him to safety? Threatened the medical staff to come pick him up? Slapped him in the face to keep him from floating away, no matter how much it hurt? 

But there was still a sense of fear in Mark; a hatred towards the man in front of him because of what had happened in Afghanistan. For the nightmares he had given Mark, unbeknownst. He couldn’t forgive him for those quite so easily. 

Mark sighed, and gave the older man a small smile. “I am happy I took up the offer as well. Now, how about you finally tell me about yourself? No need to keep me in the dark anymore like you did back then.” He didn’t mention the word ‘Afghanistan’ on purpose. He’d rather never say the word again from now on. 

Smoke visibly relaxed when he realised Mark had let his hostile feelings fade for the moment. He smiled back and leaned closer over the table. “I’ll tell you alright, but don’t let me be your role model. The old man and the major won’t like that.” He said with a wink, having found his old arrogant self again. 

Mark rolled his eyes at Smoke’s behaviour he had already gotten used to by now, and made himself comfortable. They’d be sitting there for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two beans (x
> 
> As always, thank you for reading c:


	6. Chapter 5

That evening Mark sat in the canteen with the rest of his team. The men were celebrating the success of their mission with soft drinks, sadly, as there was no alcohol stored in the base. 

They told Mark they usually went to one of Hereford’s pubs if they wanted alcohol, but a few weeks ago they had been kicked out and the major had received a letter of complaint from the pub owner. That had led to drastic measures being taken by the big man with his cigars, such as the limitation of number of operators that was allowed to go out every evening, and a few men in particular had been forbidden to set a foot in the town centre for 2 months. 

You’ll never guess wo was among those men. 

Mark tried his best to smile and laugh along when they told him it had been mostly Smoke’s fault that they got kicked out in the first place. Apparently the maniac had fabricated a stink bomb in the workshop of Hereford Base and had taken it along on their night out for, as he had put it, ‘the lolz’. The bomb had gone off in the men’s toilets, and Smoke was seen rolling on the floor while he laughed. Some innocent customers had rushed out of the toilets, crying of the stink. The bartender didn't find the joke funny at all. Much to Smoke’s surprise. 

And that’s the story of how Smoke got banned from the workshop as well. He wasn’t allowed near chemicals for weeks, which did make him angry as he wouldn’t be able to work on his toxic smoke bombs that way. 

The SAS men found the whole story rather hilarious, and Mark laughed with the them while really he felt like rolling his eyes. At least this meant he wouldn’t be bothered by the maniac while he worked in the workshop... His eyes searched the crowd of people for the smaller man, and found him quickly. Smoke was surrounded by the loudest group of men and they all seemed way too busy laughing and shouting to hear that they were talking about him. Mark observed him for a moment as Smoke stood in the middle of the attention and laughed with his fellows. He was the exact same arrogant and loud man Mark remembered from a year ago. 

It was an evening of celebration for the whole team, as loud chatter and laughing filled the room and people talked in a relaxed setting. The whole vibe of the room felt friendly and easy, so Mark tried to get out of his shell a bit. He was a quiet man usually, so for him this was also an opportunity to get to know the others. And even though he still didn’t say a lot and let the others tell him some genuine SAS stories, Mark did feel like they were all getting along quite well. 

They told Mark what had really happened during the Iranian Embassy siege of 1980, as all journalistic reports didn’t quite reflect the truth of the mission. With pride they told their new teammate that their very own leader, Thatcher, had been among the men who had stormed the building back then and had personally rescued some of the hostages. When the old man realised what they were talking about, he smiled and waved them off, telling them it wasn’t ‘such a big deal’. But to Mark it was, and he found himself in awe of the war veteran. 

The night went on nicely, with the men around Mark taking turns in telling stories or some information about their squad that Mark ought to know. Mark listened quietly, mentally noting down all the interesting or important facts he heard. He was rather shocked to hear the SAS was still being deployed on major missions in Afghanistan as his fellows told him another troop was dispatched just a week before he came to Hereford Base. Mark swallowed, pushing that information away to the back of his head. He’ll worry about the possibility of being sent back to Afghanistan another time. It wouldn’t really matter anyway, right? He was with the professional guys now. Not the British army. It’d all go much different from last time, wouldn’t it? 

Mark shook his head and returned his attention to the men around him. He tried his best to remember everybody’s names, but among all the drinking, chatting and laughing, he kept getting distracted. His eyes kept scanning the crowd, and kept landing on his old commander. His thoughts kept wandering, and kept coming back to the conversation he had had that afternoon with said man. He did his best to listen to the guys around him, but his attention kept being diverted back to the reason why he was here: Smoke. 

That afternoon he had learned a bit more about his mysterious commander. That he had always had a love for chemistry, for example, or that he used a fake ID to enlist in the British army after secondary school. He learned the man was 10 years older than him, quite narcissistic and didn’t bother with safety regulations so much. That much Mark knew. Smoke also explained where his codename came from, although Mark had already guessed that, and became very passionate when he talked about his speciality: toxic bombs. Mark figured ‘Smoke' fitted him rather well. 

Now everybody started taking turns on explaining what their operator aliases meant. These were often amusing stories, and Mark found himself listening intently and for the first time wondering what his alias would be. The men told him that a new operator usually got his nickname along the way and after some time, usually after an extraordinary event or situation. Some already offered he called himself ‘quiet’, since they did notice Mark wasn’t a very talkative person. Mark laughed it off and told them he’d wait for something to happen before he committed to an alias. 

After way too many plastic cups of coca cola, fanta and 7up, the night was drawing to an end. The canteen started to empty slowly as people admitted they felt pretty exhausted after finishing their mission that morning, travelling back that afternoon and partying all evening. Mark told himself to finish his drink and head up to bed too, so that he could get up early the next morning to start training along with the others. 

While on his way out of the canteen, Thatcher stood with Mark for a brief moment and told him he was happy he and Porter had been able to talk about their issues and had decided to make peace. The old man told him once more he was glad to have him on the team before heading off in the direction of the exit. Mark didn’t say much and only smiled politely, hiding his true feelings for the veteran. When the old man had disappeared from view, Mark took the last sip from his cup and got ready to leave. Just as he got up, a hand was placed on his shoulder. 

“Mark,” came a familiar voice from behind him, “wait up.” 

The young soldier turned around to find Smoke looking at him. His rough face looked tired, but he was grinning nonetheless. Was Mark finally worth his attention, now that the night was already over? 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Mark said bluntly, folding his arms and trying to make himself look confident and strong. 

Smoke's hand fell off his shoulder and he looked taken aback for a moment. Then he smirked. “And you’ve been staring at me.” 

“What? No-“ Mark immediately started defending himself. Well, he couldn’t really deny it. Of course he had been staring. But Smoke was making it sound so... perverse. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice ya.” Smoke said with a wink, before he laughed and continued talking to a very flustered-looking Mark: “Anyway, the old man told me you’re on the same patrol as me, which means we'll be roommates. Your current room was only temporary, until we returned. So you wouldn’t have to sleep in an empty room. Or so I’m told. So go get your things. We’re room number 2.12.” 

Mark stuttered, not exactly knowing what to say. First of all, he thought he had been quite sneaky with his subtle looks at his old commander. Apparently not. Second, what were the chances he’d be Smoke’s roommate as well? The squadron consisted of 65 men, and he was placed in Thatcher’s troop. What a coincidence it was that Smoke would be in that one as well... Then, of all 16 other people, he was placed in the same patrol as Smoke. It was too much coincidence and at that moment it was starting to look like he was placed near his old commander on purpose. 

“Alright, thanks.” Mark nodded stiffly and since Smoke still stood grinning at him, he decided he should be the one to walk away from this conversation. With an equally stiff “well, I guess I’ll go get my things,” Mark hurried off towards his old room. Smoke watched him go, arms folded and smirking. 

Smoke made him feel funny, like there was a knot in his stomach. Mark didn't know what it meant, but he had a hunch... 

 

\-- 

Mark sat in his bunk bed in his new room. He had the bottom one, and was currently clutching the bag on his lap while his shoulders were tense and he was biting his lip. 

The reason for his discomfort was the fact that there were two faces staring at him from the other bunk bed opposite of him, one guy in the bottom bed, the other in the top, dangling his feet and looking down at Mark judgingly. Smoke was there too, resting against their bunk bed with his shoulder, his arms loosely folded and legs crossed as he also stared at Mark at his leisure. The grin on his face testified that he was enjoying seeing Mark so nervous. 

“He’s so quiet.” One of the guys finally spoke up, sounding rather irritated. He threw Smoke a look from his position in the top bunk. 

“I’m sorry.” Mark immediately mumbled, even though there wasn’t really anything to apologise for. 

“Don’t say sorry to him.” Smoke laughed at Mark and tried to whack the man in the top bunk bed on the head. “David, shut up, you’re not even addressing him.” 

“So you’re the boy from Afghanistan?” The guy in the bottom bunk had been observing Mark this whole time and didn’t seem bothered with what happened above him. Mark's eyes shot to his face, a man with ginger/ brownish hair and a stubble beard that made him appear older than he probably was. He looked curious but friendly, unlike the guy in the bed above him. Still, Mark had to keep himself from rolling his eyes when he was called “boy" again. He may be younger than the rest, but he certainly wasn’t a boy... 

“Of course he is, I wouldn’t want anyone else in my patrol.” Smoke answered before Mark could, grinning proudly at their new teammate. 

“It's not _your_ patrol, James.” The guy in the top bunk bit at Smoke, while at the same time the guy in the bottom piped up: 

“Oh, and what about us?” 

“Guys, guys, you know I couldn’t do without you.” Smoke laughed, trying to control the situation. 

“Damn right.” The guy in the top bunk said, and the one in the bottom crossed his arms and looked at Smoke disbelievingly. 

“So, yes, this is Mark,” Smoke gestured at the young soldier sitting on his bed uncomfortably, “the boy from that mission I told you about.” Smoke’s eyes darted to Mark rather nervously for a moment before he continued: “And Mark, these are David and Simon.” Smoke gestured at the man in the top bunk and the man in the bottom bunk respectively. 

David just kept staring at Mark passively while Simon offered a gentle smile. Mark nervously smiled back at him. 

“David carries a grenade launcher. His codename is ‘Nade’ but we prefer to call him ‘David Fucking Blaze It’.” Smoke tried to remain as serious as he could while he introduced the rather big, blonde guy before he burst into laughter. Over on the bottom bunk bed, Simon laughed out loud as well, though David himself didn’t seem to enjoy the joke as much. He just folded his arms while looking rather sour. 

“You weren’t laughing when my grenade saved your ass, James.” 

“Of course, of course.” Smoke laughed, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. Once the two were done laughing at the rather silly joke, Smoke continued: “And Simon here uses a shotgun that can fire a web trap. Those stupid things you’ve seen in movies and thought was useless? This man made it. And it has proven useful.” Smoke said. “He calls the shotgun the Spider, and he himself we refer to as ‘Webb’. Added the extra B to make him look cooler.” Smoke ended in a whisper and winked at Mark, who felt his face heat up involuntarily. 

Luckily the attention was drawn from him to Simon, who said: “Oh shut up you, with your ‘toxic babes'.” It made the others laugh, and Smoke the loudest. 

“Anyway,” Smoke continued, “they’re brothers, you know. Wouldn’t be able to tell since one is ginger and slim and the other is blonde and fat...” 

“I’m not fat.” David immediately protested. 

“And I’m not ginger.” Simon said resolutely. 

It resulted in another outburst from Smoke, who Mark found had the most endearing laugh where tears streamed down his face. It almost made him smile. 

“So you see,” Smoke said when he had caught his breath, we’re all kind of special here,” 

“Speak for yourself.” David interrupted him with an annoyed look on his face. Simon clasped his hand to his mouth as he tried not to laugh again. 

“As I was saying... We’re looking forward to see how you’re going to prove yourself.” Smoke continued with a grin. 

Mark nodded and swallowed, pretty unsure of how he was going to go about doing that. 

“Anyway, let's sleep. I’m dead.” Simon yawned and the others agreed. Mark quickly got his things out his bag to get ready for bed. When he got in his bunk bed, he puffed up his pillow and tucked himself in. The last thing he saw before the lights went out, was Smoke winking at him when the man climbed in the top bunk of his bed. Mark felt himself blushing again and pulled his covers up as far as they could go. 

Stupid Smoke. 

 

\-- 

The next morning Mark was up early. Sunlight entered their room through the crack between the curtains that hadn’t been drawn properly. It fell right on his face, and the young man squinted at it. He shielded his face with his hand and then looked around him, slowly starting to remember he was in a new room, with new roommates. And Smoke. Yes, he remembered now. His gaze dropped from the peaceful figure of Simon sleeping opposite of him to his opened bag on the floor, where he had taken his toilet bag and pyjamas out in a hurry yesterday night. 

Mark quietly got up and started putting his things away neatly in the locker dedicated to him. It already had his name on it, making Mark wonder once more if the major or Thatcher had put him with Smoke on purpose. Maybe it was fate after all. 

Seeing as the others snored on still, Mark slipped into their tiny bathroom, washed himself and got changed. He wore simple clothes, seeing as he would be going to the gym later and as he probably wasn’t supposed to wear his blue SAS fatigues just yet that had been issued to him just a few days ago. He was excited to wear it, along with the SAS gas mask. But now wasn't the time. His moment would come on his first mission, whenever and wherever that was. Mark couldn’t wait to get started. 

His roommates were just getting up as Mark left the bathroom, wondering out loud how their new roommate could be awake and running around so early. Mark just gave them a small smile before he left for the canteen. Smoke stared after him from where he sat in his bunk bed. 

Making his way down the barracks of Hereford Base, Mark tried to sort his thoughts about his new roommates. Sure, Smoke he knew, and of course he was quite happy to have a friendly face in his patrol. 

Mark pondered over the word ‘friendly’ shortly. 

Anyway, it would be a great way to get to know the personality of his old commander better. Study his behaviour. Work together with him. Because that had been his goal all along, and if he were to believe the emotionally awkward Smoke, he wanted to do that as well. 

Then there were the other two, the brothers Simon and David. Smoke was right, they didn’t look like brothers nor did they seem to be, David being rather moody and Simon seeming quite friendly. Mark decided to test the waters with them slowly to see what they were like once he got to know them. 

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to get to know any of his new roommates if he ran off like this. But the thing was, Smoke was making Mark feel flustered whenever he lay his bright hazel eyes on him. His winking, his grinning, his behaviour... Mark didn’t know what to think. 

And so he was coming up to the canteen alone, where the other guys of his troop were already having breakfast. He waved at them, got his own portion, and joined them. They would have a power breakfast before they would start training at the gym. Mark was looking forward to seeing how tough the training of a SAS soldier was. 

“Did you get a good night’s sleep?” One of his fellows asked Mark with a mischievous look on his face. A few of the other guys laughed softly as they looked at Mark in anticipation. A guy next to him nudged him and said: 

“Does he look ashamed to you? I think the boy’s fine. James won’t target him because he’s his precious little soldier.” The man chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows at him mockingly. 

Mark raised an eyebrow. _Excuse me?_

“Porter usually pranks the new guy in his patrol. Puts his hand in a bowl of water at night so he pisses himself, or something like that.” Another man explained to Mark while the rest laughed. 

“But he doesn’t do that to you, because he’s got a weak spot for you.” The second guy chuckled again. 

“A weak spot?” Mark asked. He couldn’t remember anything happening to him last night. He had slept soundly. 

“Yeah, when he came back from Afghanistan, he couldn’t shut up about you. He usually doesn’t really take to people emotionally. But you seemed to have struck a chord in him.” Another joined in. “That’s why it was so funny the first time you were here. He couldn’t believe it yet you were sitting there right in front of him. It was hilarious for us.” 

“His little soldier from Afghanistan...” The first guy said, grinning at Mark. The youngest man blushed slightly as he didn’t respond to their teasing anymore, and instead started eating his breakfast. The other men soon changed subjects and left Mark alone to eat. 

And Mark left them alone to be with his thoughts. 

Another interesting revelation about his former commander. Afghanistan had shown clear enough that Smoke cared more about him than any of the other soldiers assigned to his team, but who would have known his strange fondness, as Mark thought it could be called, had rooted so deep? Had Smoke not lied then, when he said he wanted Mark on his team, and when he had apologised quite sincerely – for Smoke, that is – only yesterday? 

Could it really be that the blunt, rowdy, winking, joking and emotionally-awkward Londoner had a soft spot for him? 

Mark’s lips curled up slightly as he imagined it, his cheeks burning, and had someone just turned up the radiator, or was it getting unusually hot in here? 

The young SAS soldier hastily reminded himself that Smoke still had to redeem himself, and that he still hadn’t forgiven the man yet. But that was going to be a problem if- 

“Good morning lads, good to see you all here together so early.” The loud barking of a man who could only be Thatcher interrupted Mark’s thoughts rudely. The old man stood in front of them in only a few powerful strides and he placed his hands on the table as he looked down at his soldiers. “I want the whole troop to train together.” Thatcher was shortly interrupted by all men sighing and complaining they had only just returned from their last mission yesterday. But the old man didn’t listen to them. “As I said, training with the whole troop. We will-” their captain stopped talking abruptly as his eyes scanned over the table. 12 men. Where were the last 3? His eyes stopped on Mark’s flushed face. “Chandar, where are Porter and the lot?” 

“Uh, they were getting up as I left the room, sir.” Mark answered obediently. He heard a few others giggle softly. 

“Do those boys ever get up on time...” Thatcher grumbled, looking at the watch on his wrist before glancing back at the entrance to the canteen, as if the three would coincidentally walk in at that moment. Mark looked too, but they weren’t there. Thatcher turned back to him. “Hope you’re okay with being placed in their patrol by the way. Had an empty spot there and I thought you’d fit well with Porter, no matter your history. The idiot seems to take to you.” And with those words and a curt nod, Thatcher started to walk off before he turned around again. “Training hangar 4 in half an hour. Make sure to be on time.” Then their captain walked off. 

The others at the table chuckled and nudged Mark. Mark playfully laughed back at them, even though he was burning on the inside. 

Thatcher had noticed it as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay of this chapter! Haven't really been feeling well this week... Also you may have noticed my chapters are getting shorter (compared to my usual 5000 words per chapter I did for my earlier stories). It's because of work I have so little time to write. I still want to write though and deliver this story, so I'm definitely not stopping! Just reducing the words per chapter a bit...
> 
> This was a filler chapter, obviously, with the introduction of two background characters (I had to make them up, because I can't keep saying Mark forgot everybody's names xD). But yeah, things are finally starting to play between these two idiots... I hope you enjoyed c:


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Before you all begin to read this chapter, I'd like to take a moment to thank those who voted for this story in the SIEGE-A-THON competition. Because of your help, Leave it to Chance placed first in the competiton! Thank you all so much for the support, I'm so thrilled with the results! :D I can't express how happy it made me! Thank you so much! <3
> 
> See here for the final [results](http://fuckyeahrainbowsix.tumblr.com/post/180811476677/siege-a-thon-2k18-winners)!
> 
> And now, hope you enjoy c:

It was only his first real day with his troop in the SAS, but Mark was already wearing his blue combat fatigues and held his gas mask in one hand, and a practise rifle in his other hand. He stood in hangar 4, surrounded by the 15 other men of his troop. Near him stood a very bored-looking Smoke, an uninterested-looking David and a gently-smiling Simon. His patrol. Mark had his doubts. Nevertheless, he was looking forward to their training session. He hoped the big clothes he was currently wearing helped to hide the fact that he was shaking slightly, thrilled as he was with anticipation and excitement. Training with the real SAS! 

“Right folks, gather round.” Thatcher said calmly, and even though all men had been chatting, his rough voice was heard the loudest. The men fell silent was shuffled closer to where their captain was just casually securing a small knife to a strap on his forearm. Mark watched in awe at the veteran. “We’re storming the house. I want to see how you work together with our newest asset, and how he does on his first training.” Thatcher stopped talking shortly and looked at Mark, his eyes kind but stern. Mark could feel many more pairs of eyes on him, but he kept his own gaze on the captain. “Cowden, I want your patrol and Porter’s over there against mine and Smith’s. You’re attacking, we’re defending. Alright?” 

Mark’s eyes scanned the crowd of men to find the man Thatcher was addressing. He couldn’t have missed him even if he tried. The bald man he presumed was Cowden, was taller than anyone around him, and fairly big overall as a very mean-looking sledge hammer rested on his shoulder where he held it. Mark wondered why he had it, and involuntarily shuddered as he imagined being hit by the hammer. That was surely not what the man used it for, was it? 

“Aye.” Cowden answered his captain, in a very obvious Scottish accent that wasn’t unpleasant to the ears. Smoke just shrugged and nodded at Thatcher to tell him he understood. 

After some more general rules and information, the doors to the hangar were opened and the defending team entered. They would get a few minutes to prepare the practise area before the attackers were allowed to try and rescue the hostage that was kept inside. Mark caught a glimpse of what the training hangar looked like, a huge creation that resembled a house and was made completely out of cardboard and wood. Mark felt excitement pooling in his stomach as the doors to the hangar shut again. 

“So you’re Porter’s guy, I heard. Don’t think we met yesterday.” The big, bald, Scottish man stood next to Mark and his presence nearly made him jump. 

_Porter’s guy..._

“I’m Seamus, but they all call me Sledge.” Cowden said, laughing loudly and gesturing to his sledge hammer. “Can you figure why?” 

Mark softly laughed along as the joke was obviously aimed to reassure him that the big man was no threat. He shook his hand while introducing himself politely. Sledge had the makes of a real leader, the young SAS soldier thought as he looked up in the calm yet determined face of the tall man. A good ally during missions, he was sure. 

“Don’t worry about the training, we’ll get you through it.” Sledge smiled, before an idea seemed to pop into his head. “Hey, how about you take the lead with me? I’m sure-” Sledge proposed, but was cut off by a voice behind him. 

“Uhm, no. Mark is coming with me. End of.” 

Sledge and Mark both looked behind them to find Smoke standing there, his arms crossed and his feet planted firmly into the floor. Mark had noticed before how the Londoner was quite a small man, but compared to Sledge next to him, it was even more striking. Mark had to hide his smile. 

“C’mon Smoke, you heard the old man. We have to see how we work together with the new lad. You have already done so. You can’t claim him.” Sledge retorted immediately, stepping up to Smoke and subtly intimidating him with his height. Mark blushed slightly at the word ‘claim’. 

“He’s only here because of me!” Smoke said bewildered, as if Sledge was taking away his right to be paired up with Mark. It was only making the young soldier feel hotter. 

Sledge chuckled. “Hasn't the boy lived through enough trauma with you?” 

When Smoke’s lips formed a thin line and his face went thunderous, Sledge figured he had hit a delicate topic. Not being one to start fights, the Scotsman changed subjects. 

“Anyway, it’s a good idea to think of some strategies. Can I have everybody’s attention?” Sledge called the others over, Simon and David and the three other guys from his own patrol. The eight of them gathered closer together. 

Mark had figured there weren’t any real leaders of the patrols, just four men working together while their captain – in their case Thatcher – led them. But in order to think of a strategy, there needed to be someone to take the lead. It seemed like Sledge would take that role upon himself. Mark wasn’t complaining, because the man seemed a natural leader. Smoke just huffed in annoyance. 

“I’ll take the lead with Nade. Smash a window and explode some grenades to divert their attention to us. Meanwhile you,” Sledge pointed at one of the men Mark had forgotten the name of but held a sniper rifle in his arms, “search for the hostage from outside and take some shots with your rifle. Next you two,” Sledge pointed at the others Mark didn’t know the names of, “breach a window on the other side of the house, to confuse them. Meanwhile you three,” Sledge motioned over to Mark, Webb and Smoke, “take the front door and take them by surprise. Our groups join up with you when you’ve secured the front area. Then we go on to the hostage room with the seven of us so we can storm it with force. Any questions?” 

“Nope, all clear sir.” Smoke chirped, his mocking ‘sir’ and the hand to his head greeting Sledge as if he was a recruit earned a raised eyebrow from the Scotsman. The smaller man gave Mark a big grin, obviously happy to be paired up with him. Mark heard Simon softly complain about why he had to be paired up with ‘them’. Nevertheless, everybody agreed the plan was good and agreed to it. All they had to do now was wait for the doors of the hangar to open again, and they could begin their training. 

Sledge gave Mark a playful eyeroll and a pat on the shoulder before he took his position in front of the hangar door. David ‘fucking blaze it’ or whatever that name was, joined him there and the two talked casually. The guy with the sniper rifle looked over his gun to make sure it wouldn’t fail him, and the other team met up as well. Smoke was next to Mark in an instant. 

“Nervous?” 

“No, I’m-” Mark started, but apparently wasn’t allowed to finish. 

“You look great in those, by the way.” Smoke said with a smirk, looking Mark in his blue fatigues up and down before hiding his face under his gas mask. “Suits you.” He said from behind the mask. 

Mark stammered, not having expected the out-of-the-blue compliment and knew his face was getting as red as a tomato. “I- what?” 

“Oh my god James, stop making him feel so awkward!” Simon wacked Smoke on the head and stood in between the two, turning to Mark. “Don’t mind him, he’s just making a fool of himself.” The man shrugged with an annoyed look at Smoke. 

“Ah- yeah...” Mark mumbled, rubbing his face with his gloved hand. 

Fucking Smoke. 

Mark then noticed a strange-looking device in Simon’s hands, and asked: “Is that the Spider?” 

The ginger man’s face brightened up immediately as he looked at the gun and back at Mark. “It is, actually!” 

“So you’ve attached it to your shotgun?” Mark inquired, inspecting the gun Webb handed him over. 

“Yes, but this is only the prototype I use for practise. I might hurt one of us if I used the real thing, but it’s nearly as good.” The man smiled. 

“So how have you fabricated this?” Mark asked excitedly, having completely forgotten the awkward encounter he had just had with Smoke as he looked the device over. 

“I can show you in the workshop, if you’re interested?” Simon mused, and Mark immediately agreed. Maybe he’d be doing some engineering here after all? If only it was to help Simon. 

“Fucking nerds...” Smoke huffed, his arms folded and obviously annoyed about the fact that Mark’s attention had shifted from him to Simon’s Spider. 

Mark was taken aback slightly, feeling a bit offended but Simon just turned to him and said simply: “We’ll leave you to your insane chemistry experiments and you leave us to the engineering, alright?” 

Smoke just grumbled a bit, but Mark didn’t mind him anymore. Simon seemed like a nice guy. Maybe life in Hereford Base with this patrol wasn’t going to be so bad after all, Mark thought. 

 

\-- 

“Breachin’!" Simon shouted only a second before the front ‘door’ was blown out of its hinges. Being only a flimsy wooden panel instead of a proper door, the splinters flew everywhere and the team of three had to jump out of the way in order not to be hit by any of them. The smoke cleared and Simon had two pairs of eyes on him, glaring at him from behind the goggles of their gas masks. 

“Could’ve warned us a bit sooner, son.” Smoke remarked irritably. Simon looked at Mark for help, but he just shrugged. “Well, let’s get a move on.” 

The smaller man peeked around the corner, but as expected, the defending team was busy with the distractions delivered by Sledge and the rest of the team. They crept inside, Smoke followed by Simon, followed by Mark, until they stood in what was supposed to be the ‘entrance hall’ of the fake house. Smoke notified Sledge that they had made it inside unscathed over their comms while Simon and Mark had his six. 

Then Mark noticed a shadow moving on the top of the stairs and immediately aimed his gun up in its general direction. Simon glanced at him shortly and aimed up the stairs as well. With baited breath they waited for more movement. Mark could only figure someone had heard them breach the front door and had left their current battle in order to investigate. He shifted the grip on his gun slightly, holding it loosely, his shoulders relaxed but his mind and eyes concentrated. 

While Smoke was behind them and still discussing their strategy with Sledge, the shadow shifted again. Mark saw the outline of something, or someone, and opened fire. Simon did the same. Together they fired a short burst of blanks at the figure, which retreated to safety again quickly. Simon cursed softly. 

“What’s going on?” Smoke joined them where they had taken cover behind a panel. 

“Someone on top of the stairs. I think we’re pinned, unless one of us is quick enough to dart out of here and storm them. The man looked at Mark expectantly. 

“Too risky. They’re taking losses in the other teams; the defending team is holding ground too well. We need to help them.” Smoke said curtly. 

“But what about him?” Simon complained, pointing up the stairs with his gloved hand. “He knows we’re here. He’s just waiting for us to pop out.” 

“Leave it to me.” Smoke said, the smirk obvious in his voice. 

“Did you bring-” Simon started, but was cut off. 

“No, of course not. These are just some simple stink bombs. But we can use them for a surprise attack.” Smoke finished, and pulled some kind of explosive out of one of his many pockets. Mark only caught a glimpse of the yellow-ish liquid inside of it shortly before the older man leaned out of cover and tossed it up the stairs with an impressively calculated swing of his arm. Next the man pulled a detonator out of his pocket, and giggled as he pressed it. 

Nothing. 

“What-” Smoke started, pressing his detonator again. Nothing happened still. 

“Uhm...” Simon looked at his teammate. 

Smoke stamped on the floor in frustration. “Fuck, I bet it’s Thatcher up there. That old wanker and his EMPs...” 

“EMPs?” Mark asked, cocking his head in interest. 

“Yes. Fucking, cock-blocking, faggot EMPs of that son of a-” Smoke raged, strangling an imaginary Thatcher with his hands. 

Simon sighed and turned to Mark. “Thatcher’s EMPs emit an electromagnetic pulse which destroys or disables any device in a radius of 5 meters... It’s a genius gadget really, but it’s a pain in the arse when he’s your enemy. My Spider won’t work on him as well, then.” He said thoughtfully, turning back to Smoke who only shrugged. 

Mark nodded slowly. That was an interesting device. He told himself to keep it in mind and think about it later. Now it looked like he had to get ready to dart out of their hiding place. 

“Right, Mark. Time for you to show us all you’ve learned during the selection.” Smoke said as he turned to their youngest team mate. Mark nodded reluctantly. 

“We’ll give you cover fire.” Simon said, trying to comfort the man next to him. 

With a huff, Mark agreed to do it and got in position. When both his teammates started firing their incredibly loud shotguns in the general direction of Thatcher on top of the stairs, Mark slipped out of the hall and took position under the stairs, he aimed upwards and fired blindly at the wooden ceiling above him. He heard a loud curse, a rough voice definitely belonging to the old man Thatcher, and footsteps that hurried away. 

“Did you get him?” Smoke shouted over at him as the firing had stopped. 

Mark shook his head and called back: “I hit him but he ran off.” 

The smaller man let out a groan of frustration before he and Simon joined Mark at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Orders from Sledge, we have to help the others before we proceed upstairs to where they keep the hostage. So we’ll have to let Thatch run for now, unfortunately... Webb, get your Spider out. We’re going to catch these tossers.” 

Simon nodded resolutely, gripping his precious gun more tightly. Mark nodded at the smaller man in front of him as well. 

“Let’s get going then.” Smoke sighed, and the team of three were off. 

They regrouped with the other attackers, helping them eliminate the resisting defenders. Mark did his best, although he stayed in the background and observed his fellows a lot. Of course he helped, but half of him was in awe of the SAS soldiers, and the other half was reluctant of acting, as if afraid he’d mess up the whole mission. He still waited for Smoke to give him orders as if he was still his commander, whereas now he should be deciding for himself and shooting at will. Mark knew that, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

That was, until Smoke separated him from the rest for a moment. 

“Mark, we’re going up to rescue the hostage soon. You need to act more. You can’t just stand there and wait.” The smaller man told him in a hushed voice through his gas mask. 

“I’m sorry, I keep waiting for orders.” Mark excused himself. 

Smoke chuckled. “There’s no more orders. Apart from the old man’s, of course. But he’s not with us at the moment. And I’m not giving you orders anymore either, okay? We’re equals now.” The man punched Mark in the chest playfully. 

“I think you can hardly say that yet.” Mark retorted, knowing fully well he wasn’t Smoke’s equal yet. He had made it to the SAS, but he still had a lot to learn. 

“Just relax, and do what you think is good, okay?” Smoke comforted him, and Mark bet that if the man wasn’t wearing his gas mask now, he’d wink at him. It made him feel flustered again, but still he preferred this Smoke over the arrogant one he had met in Afghanistan. The Londoner patted his arm softly before he rejoined the others, with Mark following him. 

Three men stood in the room, blue fatigues, gas masks and guns slung over their shoulders. They were gathered around the tallest among them; Sledge. They looked up when Smoke and Mark approached them, accurately aware of the fact that they weren’t safe yet. This was still a hostile area. 

“Good, we’re complete then.” Sledge grunted as he saw the two join them. “Our sniper out there has informed me that the hostage is upstairs, last room down the hall on the left. We’ve taken out four of them, which means they’re still on four. We’re on five, with support from our sniper outside. So let’s do this, shall we?” 

The others nodded quietly, so Sledge resumed his speech. 

“We’re running out of time, so no more mistakes. Nade, no grenades in the hostage room. Smoke, don’t gas the hostage. Webb, have that Spider ready. And Mark... Be ready.” Sledge concluded, pointing his finger at each of them respectively. The team gave their affirmative, and got going again. 

The attackers met no resistance on their way up the stairs and down the hallway. Figuring the defenders had regrouped in the hostage room and had barricaded themselves in there in order to wait it out, it looked like things were going to get serious. Sledge gave hand signals, and soon they blew holes into the hostage room, making several entry points or murder holes, and began their siege on the attackers. 

The disorientating sound of rifles firing and explosions invaded Mark’s ears. He saw how Simon tried to sneak around a corner and fire his Spider, saw how it jammed and saw how his team mate was taken out upon that mistake. 

_Thatcher is still in there._

His EMPs were starting to be a real pain in the ass, as his teammates had said. Mark hated them, more and more as he saw his teammates’ gadgets fail because of them, but also realised the brilliance, the ingenuity of his captain and his EMPs. It was a truly interesting concept, a grenade that worked as a disruptive device. Brilliant. 

But alas, the defending team was too strong, Mark too unused to cooperating with the elite men and the attackers too unorganised. Thatcher’s team had them at their mercy. 

And so, their time to rescue the hostage ran out. 

Mark threw his practise rifle on the floor and cursed in defeat. Both attackers and defenders came out of their hiding places and regrouped around their captain Thatcher in the hostage room. 

“Too slow, too chaotic, and too little attack.” The old man growled as he fired a hole into the hostage’s head with his pistol, making everyone jump. He didn’t even aim. Luckily the hostage was only a lifeless doll. 

“Fuck it Thatcher, you and your stupid EMPs...” Smoke immediately started complaining. 

“I don’t want to hear it Porter.” The man silenced him with his rough voice. The attackers bowed their heads in shame. “I need more cooperation, more predicting, less guessing.” When the defenders giggled softly at the attackers, Thatcher turned around abruptly. “And the same applies to you nitwits! Last week we’ve been sitting on our asses too much. Succeeded the mission, yes. But we’re not. in. shape." Their captain hit his fist in his palm with every word. “Again! We’ll do it again until you get it right! And then we’ll do it over again! The whole week you’ll be stuck with me until I’m confident you idiots can perform like the elite soldiers you are.” 

“The whole week?” David sighed, annoyed, as if he had other places to be. 

“Yes! The whole week!” Thatcher shouted. “And you know why?” 

Thatcher didn’t immediately tell why, so all men looked at their captain curiously. A mission? An upcoming threat? Tension hung in the air as Thatcher stood in the middle of his room, hands on his hips and staring his men down through the goggles of his mask. The old man sighed, his tone a lot softer when he continued: 

“Some of you may not like this, but we’re going to deployed to Afghanistan soon. One mission only. But we need to do this nice and clean. Understood?” 

The silence still hung in the air as the men nodded slowly. The tension that had been present in the room only thickened. Mark felt some faces turn to him and Smoke as he himself shifted his weight from one leg to the other nervously. 

Afghanistan. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware this chapter was uploaded a bit later than usual. Allow me to explain. Besides the fact that I have very little free time on my hands, I have to do a lot of research for the next chapters. It's coming along nicely, and I'm sure you'll like it c: But it's taking time. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> A little heads up though (that I know you won't be happy with): the next chapter will be uploaded on 17 December. I will be on holiday by that time, so no more updates for at least 2 weeks. I'm sorry, but I hope you understand!
> 
> Thank you for reading! c:


	8. Chapter 7

“Hey, don't worry. It won't be like last time. I promise.” Smoke’s usually rough voice was soft as he sat shoulder to shoulder on the military plane with Mark. The others batted them no eye, chatting in a relaxed fashion as if they were deployed to a warzone on a daily basis. Mark nodded slowly, appreciating Smoke’s unusual softness with him but still feeling nervous. 

Last time in Afghanistan had been hell. And the reason for that, ironically, was sitting next to him and was trying to comfort him. 

Of course it wouldn’t be like last time. Mark knew that. They had a major mission now and their captain Thatcher had trained them to the max over the last week, over and over again until they got it right. The man wasn't easy to satisfy, telling them to start all over again if they were only a second too late to save the hostages. Mark had been exhausted. Every evening in his bedroom with his mates James, Simon and David, the four of them had flung themselves into their beds, only bothering to take off their blue fatigues and shoes and falling asleep straight away. 

One night Mark had woken up all of a sudden, feeling unwell. He had stumbled out of his bed and made his way to the bathroom, taking care not to bump into something in their messy room. He splashed water into his face before he looked into the mirror and stared at the dark circles around his eyes. His skin, that was quite tanned already, was even darker now and Mark bitterly laughed as he told himself he looked like a zombie. 

He was stressed. He knew he needed to perform, knew it was expected of him and he tried his stinking best, but apparently it was never enough for Thatcher. Every day they failed to do what he ordered and Mark was starting to doubt himself. Was he suitable for the SAS? 

Then the door had opened, and in the reflection of the mirror Mark saw a very sleepy-looking Webb enter, his short ginger hair sticking out at odd angles. He looked surprised for a moment to find his younger teammate there before he excused himself. 

“Sorry Mark, didn't know you were in here. Needed a wee.” The man said, rubbing his face. He strolled over to the toilet, and just when Mark started to wonder if he was going to take a piss while he was still there, Simon turned to him. “Are you alright? You look like shit mate.” 

Mark just laughed faintly and shrugged, telling the man he was just exhausted from all the training. Simon smiled sympathetically. 

“He’s throwing a lot of shit at us, isn’t he, that Thatcher?” Webb laughed bitterly. 

Mark smiled a little, unsure if he should agree with his teammate or not. Yes, Thatcher was definitely throwing a lot of shit at him. But was it weak to admit that? 

Simon's expression softened as he quietly continued: “Don't worry Mark, he's getting on our nerves as well. But that’s him, you know. He may sound like a complete asshole when he barks his orders at us, telling us to do it over and over again. And I know what you’re thinking. You think you’re not good enough because we still haven’t completed a successful training. But let me tell you this lad, he is impressed with us. He is proud of us. He does think we’re good enough. All of us. But he trains us to the extreme because he wants the mission in Afghanistan to succeed. He doesn’t want to lose any of us. He doesn’t want to live with that burden. Do you understand?” 

Mark watched the ginger man as he talked, nodding slowly. Of course, it all made sense. Thatcher didn't really think they were idiots when he shouted at them. He just wanted them to be fully prepared. He was just very good at frightening them. Mark chuckled stupidly. “I see. I think it’s just the exhaustion giving me these dark thoughts.” 

With a smile Simon came over to him and patted his shoulder. “Don't worry about it mate. We're more than ready for the mission with the training we're getting. It’s just how things go here. You’ll get used to it, I promise. I think you are as good as James described you.” 

“Thanks Simon.” Mark smiled back, a genuine, relaxed smile. One that he hadn’t been able to muster over the last few days. 

“S'alright. Go back to sleep. You need it.” Simon let his hand fall off Mark's shoulder. “And I need a piss.” 

Mark chuckled as he nodded and returned to their bedroom. He closed the door behind him quietly and returned to bed. And with Simon’s words still echoing in his head, he finally fell into a comfortable sleep. 

Over the short period Mark had trained with his troop and his patrol, he had found a good friend in Simon. A man who was friendly, comforting and easy-going, but also one he could share his passion for the workshop with. The man turned out to be a brilliant engineer, and whenever the two weren’t dead tired from Thatcher's training, they sat down to work on his Spider together. Webb understood Mark's love for engineering, and they found themselves completely at peace in each other's presence and surrounded by wires, tools and machines. 

It was Simon who had also been able to convince the old man Thatcher to come to the workshop so he could explain his EMPs to Mark. The young soldier was fascinated by them, asking his reluctant captain loads of questions. Over time, Thatcher realised Mark was truly interested in his gadget, and talked more freely. 

Mark on the other hand, wanted to know all this information not just because he was interested, but also because his brains had started developing ideas. What if the SAS had an EMP-like gadget at their disposal that was stationary and permanent? That could jam any kind of electronics? 

What benefits could that bring? 

He didn't share these ideas with Thatcher nor Simon. Mark wanted to outline his plans a bit more first, experiment a bit, before he got everybody excited and it turned out it couldn’t be done. Sadly though, he didn't get any time to commence with his plans because they were deployed to Afghanistan the next day. Still, it gave Mark some time to think over his idea. Maybe he could go to the workshop once they got back. 

If they got back. 

“Alright, listen up you bellends.” Thatcher then spoke up, sending the daydreaming Mark back to the here and now. He saw how Smoke was watching him intently before both men turned their attention on their captain. “In less than an hour we’ll be landing in Badakshan, or however the hell it’s pronounced. A squadron of the SAS is already on-site and waiting for us there. Now there's a surprise for this mission, because we'll be fighting alongside some Yankees. Yes, you heard that right,” Thatcher continued while some of his men groaned, and some ooh-ed in fake wonder, “there will be some members of the Navy Seals with us. They'll be talking us through the ins and outs before we commence, so be a good lad and keep your mouths shut at least until the important pieces of information have been given, alright?” The men cheered, and Thatcher gave a hearty laugh. “We’ll show those arrogant faces that the SAS isn't a simple group of pretty people with sun glasses, alright!?” The men shouted again and clapped, Thatcher made a little bow and sat back down. 

Now there was a lot more commotion on the plane. The Navy Seals, Mark thought. He didn't know if it was true that all Americans were pretty, arrogant people wearing sun glasses because he'd never been there, but Thatcher had certainly set his expectations now. He suddenly felt a pang of pride to be part of the SAS, an elite force the whole criminal world had to recon with. The Seals... Who could they be? 

 

\-- 

Operation Jubilee. 

That was the name of the operation Mark and his teammates would take part in, there in war-torn Afghanistan. The name radiated victory, but in reality, the situation was looking quite hopeless. 

The rescue team of special ops didn't move out for a couple of days since Thatcher's troop landed in the north-east of Afghanistan. The team knew of their mission – the rescue of four kidnapped aid workers, kept in caves in the dense Koh-e-Laram forest by men who had ties with the Taliban and demanded a ransom of 6 million pounds, along with the release of one of their men – but it wasn't sure yet when they would strike. 

The situation was growing more and more worrying while the officers of the camp watched the images a drone above their target area transmitted. The intel they were getting was weak, as the drone was not able to get a clear view in this mountainous, remote area. All they knew was that the four hostages were held by some 7 men with AK47 rifles, RPGs and powerful machine guns. Back in their home country of the United Kingdom, Downing Street 10 was holding emergency meetings on what their next move should be. 

Besides that there was a lot of uncertainty, there was the problem of their surroundings. The inhospitable, hostile area they found themselves in, was also used by criminal scum that smuggled drugs to Russia through Tajikistan, a country that neighboured Afghanistan’s borders near the district the hostages were held in. And even though they had nothing to do with these men, these traffickers could possibly form a problem to the success of their mission. 

Thatcher’s troop had been welcomed by the SAS troop that was already present on site, and the men were happy to be in each other’s presence as they knew they could count on each other. The meeting with the Seals had been slightly stiffer, the Americans being welcoming and open and the British reserved and closed. Nevertheless, the men of the SAS were impressed to meet Seal team 6, the squad of men and women that had allegedly killed Osama Bin Laden, founder of militant organisation al-Qaeda. 

The air was tense while the Americans and British trained together, readying themselves for the upcoming battle. Interestingly enough, they learned tactics and strategies from each other, often laying down their arms in the middle of a training to discuss the right approach to their problem. For the SAS it was usually the veteran Thatcher who would doubt if they were training for the right thing, while in the Navy Seals there were two figures who definitely had the biggest mouths and dared to oppose Thatcher. 

One of them was a big, muscly man – not nearly as tall as Sledge, but a fairly big human being – who had a curly black beard and the dark sunglasses Thatcher had mentioned. To a non-American, he was the perfect image of an American special op. Mark and his patrol called him ‘captain Blackbeard' behind his back, referring to the pirate of old tales and his great big black beard. 

The other was a female. She was quite small – even Smoke was taller, and that was rare – but her brains were all the bigger, often correcting Thatcher himself. The old man hated it. A woman with a position in a special ops team was unknown to them, as the SAS consisted of men only. Still the presence, intelligence and female strength of a woman on the battlefield was unmatched by any of her male counterparts, making the British men see reason in allowing women to join their ranks. 

Still, the SAS selection procedure was tough beyond imagining, and most women simply didn't have the endurance and strength to come out of it clean and unscathed. After all, it was traditionally a man’s world and a man’s job. 

Among his fellows, Mark was really starting to get used to his new teammates. Thatcher’s endless but entertaining stories, Smoke’s sarcastic humour and silly pranks, Webb’s quiet and friendship, Sledge’s confidence and camaraderie… He didn't really hang out with the other men so much, and Nade… Well, he didn't dislike him, but he just couldn’t gauge the man at all. 

And so Mark preferred to stay in the presence of Mike, James, Simon and Seamus. 

One evening, the five of them were sitting outside by a campfire until late. In this area, the days were warm and the nights quite cool, allowing them to stay outside wearing only warm jumpers in addition to their usual gear. They varied from gazing into the fire and enjoying its warmth to chatting about everything and nothing, and listening to the strange sounds of the night. They wondered out loud about their mission, the hostages and the enemy. Sometimes they would curse the war and all the bad things it had brought upon Afghanistan and its people, only to be followed by an uncomfortable silence as each man thought about all the things he had done to bring peace to the world. 

It seemed like those actions were in vain, seeing as criminality and violence still grew in the world. Eliminate a drug cartel here, another one sprouts over there. Kill one dictator here, another one is crowned over there. Save and free slaves here, more are taken over there. It was an ongoing battle; one that would never end. It was like a smouldering fire; whenever the good thought it was extinguished, the bad managed to light it up again so it would burn with renewed strength. Every time you think you’ve finally overcome the evil, you wake up to find you’re at the bottom of it all again. 

That was a gloomy thought. But every day was surviving, holding onto your beliefs that you are doing the right thing. To realise that the people who turn on you are angry at the government, at the world. Not at you. It was a sad, but comforting thought that their job was all about defending the people, who would never know of their heroic acts, or even their names. But that’s the way things are and, soldier or special op, they all know their sacrifices are worth it. 

The night carried on while the sky changed from pink to purple, before it turned to black and covered the soldiers sitting at the fire in darkness. Not long after Thatcher excused himself and went to bed, and so did Sledge. This left Mark with Smoke and Webb. 

The young soldier blushed slightly as a memory flooded his mind; something that had happened only that afternoon. He had been chatting with Simon in their tent about this and that, mostly engineering-related stuff, when an angry Smoke had waltzed in. 

Wearing his blue combat trousers only; the rest of his gear having seemingly vanished. 

Mark had gulped at the sight. Sure, he was interested in his old commander, but he wasn’t sure yet in _what_ way. That question was answered indefinitely when he gazed upon the smaller man’s sweaty torso. Luckily, Smoke didn’t notice his staring yet as Simon snorted loudly and asked: 

“I know it’s hot out there James, but for fuck’s sake, put a shirt on. What are you doing?” The ginger man rolled his eyes and shook his head in disapproval. 

Smoke looked up from his thoughts, having apparently not noticed his teammates sitting there. He looked surprised at Simon as he repeated the question. “What I’m doing? I-” But then his hazel eyes fell on Mark’s flustered face, and he suddenly grinned as he continued: “Well, I’m bringing sexy back. Can’t you see?” 

Immediately, Simon let out an exaggerated sigh as he looked up at the ceiling of their tent, muttering barely audible ‘I’m so done with you. What was I expecting...’ 

Mark felt a funny feeling going down to his stomach as he understood the reference to Justin Timberlake’s song, his cheeks turning to the shade of ripe tomatoes as James’ smart eyes beamed at him. The shorter man winked before he turned around and left the tent again, making the two men wonder both why he had come there in the first place, and why his shirt was missing. They never got an explanation. 

The sound of snoring returned the young soldier to the here and now with a start. He looked around to find Simon lying on his back on the floor, sleeping peacefully in whatever comfort his jacket brought. Mark watched his chest rise and fall slowly; the man usually slept so deeply that not even a freight train passing right in front of them would wake him up. Seriously. 

Then Mark looked to his other side to find Smoke poking the fire calmly with a stick. It was starting to die down, giving off less warmth and heat than it did before. Not long now and they would too return to their tents and sleep, waiting until they would be sent into the forest that spread before them to rescue the hostages. Mark shivered involuntarily. 

“Cold?” Smoke asked, looking at him shortly before returning his gaze to the fire. 

“No, I’m fine.” Mark shrugged. He was, in truth. It was just the upcoming threat of their mission that made him feel uneasy. And perhaps the presence of his old commander. 

“Aw, I can keep you warm, princess.” Smoke grinned, shuffling closer to Mark. 

“I told you, I’m fine.” Mark said hastily, avoiding eye contact and moving away from the older man. 

“But don’t you want me closer, Mark?” Smoke chuckled. “The way you ogled me this afternoon...” 

“That was nothing. You- you startled us.” Mark stuttered, still moving away as Smoke kept trying to sit closer to him. 

“If you keep going like this, you’ll shuffle all the way over to those caves on your bum. Won’t do the fabric of those trousers any good.” James winked again. 

Mark looked at him, dumbfounded, as he had already put a good distance between himself and the fire. But Smoke was still close. _What was he trying to do?_

“Come over here. Sit with uncle Porter.” Smoke patted his lap with a smirk, as if Mark should sit there. 

“What are you playing at?” Mark bit, angry at how easily the older man could confuse him. He stayed right where he was as he glared at the man over by the fire, his dark silhouette a contrast to the small light the fire gave off. 

“You’re burning up for me, Mark.” Smoke purred playfully. 

“I’m not!” Mark lied. 

“I’m sorry Mark,” Smoke laughed, “I just love getting you all flustered up and getting on your nerves. You’re just so easy.” 

Mark looked away moodily, embarrassed by the way Smoke was playing him like a marionette. Yes, maybe he stared a bit too much. Yes, maybe it was starting to show that he always tried to stay close to his old commander. Yes, he may be using the conversations with Webb to distract himself; to avoid his mind from wandering to the man who sat grinning at him now. Had it all been that obvious? 

“Why don’t you just get it all out and be over with it, boy?” Smoke teased. 

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” Mark said stoically, trying to keep up the lie that was gradually shattering at the moment. He didn't want to admit he had feelings towards the older man. He still hated him. 

He was supposed to still hate him. 

Right? 

“You little liar.” Smoke chuckled. 

Mark burst. “Why can't you ever be serious? Why is everything just fun and games with you? When is something _not_ a joke to you!?” He growled, balling his fists and clenching his jaw. He hated the carelessness of the other man, his recklessness. But most of all, he hated how much it affected him. 

Smoke’s grin fell from his face ever so slightly as he stared at Mark having his outburst. He remained quiet for a long time, the dying fire still crackling merrily behind him as he kept watching his younger team mate, as if he was waiting for something. 

In the meantime Mark calmed down slowly, and he started to regret shouting at James. It was probably the tenseness, the stress of their upcoming mission. He hadn’t meant to sound so angry and condescending. 

Then Smoke sighed, and finally spoke up. “You see, boy, you’ve only just started. This is the most important thing in the whole world to you. But I, I’ve been here for a while. Seen things. Done things. Stared death right in the eye. Gambled with him over other’s lives. Gambled with him for my own. That does something to you, you know?” The older man snorted. “Of course you don't know. You can't even begin to imagine. I need to be more serious? Don't give me that crap. We've only got so much time to live. Why should I spend my time on this God-forsaken earth bowing down, without a mind of my own? Screw that. I’m doing whatever the fuck I want.” 

Mark listened with bated breath, watching his teammate with wide eyes. This _was_ , in fact, serious Smoke. But his reasoning made so much sense, Mark felt even more ashamed for getting angry with him over his behaviour. This was the way Smoke dealt with the shit his job gave him. And he had all the rights to. 

The older man got up from where he had been sitting resolutely, and in two steps he was in front of Mark. He leaned down, grabbed the younger man's chin and captured his lips with his own. It all happened in a flurry of the moment. 

With his eyes still open wide, Mark uttered a sound of surprise before he found himself leaning into Smoke’s warm lips. He shouldn't be allowed to steal a kiss like that, so nonchalantly and confidently. But Mark wasn't protesting. He was letting him. 

Without deepening the kiss, Smoke pulled away again way too soon. He smirked at Mark's perplexed face. 

“Live a little, Mark. It can all be over tomorrow.” He said, the teasing tone in his voice obvious again. “And put out the fire when you go to bed, will ya? Don’ t want the camp burning down.” And with that, the smaller man walked off casually in the direction of the tents. 

Mark gaped after him, feeling his lips softly with his finger tips and sitting unmoving on the cold forest floor, speechless. 

Had that really just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're slowly getting there (x
> 
> Sorry if this chapter seems a bit chaotic; I had a lot of thoughts I wanted to get out in writing so I hope it hasn't gotten too confusing.
> 
> Important note: I'm on holiday right now for 2 weeks, so no more chapters for a while! See you all in the new year c: Thanks for reading! c:


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a very late happy new year to you all! Hope 2019 will bring you happiness, luck, and many hours of gaming ;)
> 
> My apologies I took a while uploading this one. I kept changing and deleting things, but I guess it's good enough now. Please enjoy! c:

Within the blink of an eye Mark’s feet hit the floor. He hastily removed himself from the rope that he had been attached to, looking up at the Black Hawk helicopter above him and seeing his teammates coming down after him rapidly. He made sure to clear the area before that, running off and taking cover in the bushes with his allies. Mark’s heart was already pounding in his chest as he watched the other operators leave the helicopter. This was his first mission, and so far it was everything he had imagined. They could only hope the roaring blades of the large helicopter didn’t make too much noise and alert their enemies. Although, they were dropped a few miles away from their target and should be safe enough. 

A large hand patted his shoulder once he had let himself fall into the ditch and had found a good spot to hide underneath the bushes. 

“Alright laddie?” Sledge’s voice could barely be heard over the sound of the helicopter above them. Mark looked at him, smiled weakly but nodded reassuringly. Yes. He was ready for the mission. But was he ready to cooperate with Smoke after what had happened last night? He wasn’t sure. He guessed he just had to. “A vacation in a foreign land, eh?” Sledge chuckled, seemingly in his element. Mark didn’t have time to reply. 

“Attention men! Check your gear! We don’t want to go in half-arsed!” Thatcher barked at them, giving the general instructions every member knew off by heart. Still they listened obediently to their captain. The SAS men quickly put their helmets on, checked their machine guns, pistols, and grenades and tried out their night vision goggles as well as the brand-new cameras that were attached to their helmets. No gas masks on this mission, as they would only restrict them in the dense forest that lay ahead of them. They still had a long way to go. 

The medical team that was assigned to their squad prepared themselves as well. On the other side of the landing place, the navy seals lay in waiting. Their commander was preparing his men and women as well in a similar fashion. Mark watched them for a moment, their presence adding to the excitement and nerves he was feeling. This wasn’t just a mission like he had had during his soldier years. This was the real deal, two different teams of special ops and the finest gear they could get. Mark was with the SAS now. 

It was 5PM local time, and only a few hours earlier the commanders of the camp had decided it was time to act. The terrorists had been in contact again with the Taliban, and it was vital that the hostages were rescued as soon as possible. Their lives depended on it. The four hostages appeared to have been split up and were kept in two separate caves; making it harder for the team of special ops to successfully save all four of them. Thus it was decided to split up the rescue force as well; the SAS operators were tasked with the rescue of the British and Kenyan aid workers, and Seal Team 6 would focus on the two Afghan hostages. 

Once everyone was safely down on the ground, the pilots of the Black Hawks, the Night Stalkers, flew off with a respectful salute to the team below. Mark watched them go with a funny feeling in his stomach. It was like watching their transport leave them on the edge of that small town a year ago, when he had only just met Smoke. He only hoped they would make it out safe and sound again. This time with the whole team. 

Mark had heard about an earlier operation, similar to this one, where a British doctor who had been taken hostage was killed because the rescue team hadn’t timed their attack perfectly right. They couldn’t let that happen this time. They had to save these innocent civilians that were doing such wonderful work in a warzone. Brave souls who stayed and helped while everyone else left and deserted the hellhole. 

They had to save them. It was the least they could do. 

They were told the pairs of hostages were guarded by four to seven terrorists each; which seemed a small number in comparison to the team of 28 SAS operators. But the fact that the terrain was unknown to them, the intel their drone provided was obscure and any early firing into the cave could risk the lives of the hostages, made the situation rather difficult. 

But despite their disadvantageous situation, the team of British and American operators finally set off towards their target. Their going was hard, seeing as there were no trails or paths in the dark forest, nor were there any lights. Mark was happy to have his night vision goggles now; his vision had gone green but at least he was able to make out his surroundings so he wouldn’t trip over any roots or run into trees or teammates in front of him. 

The group of soldiers walked in silence, holding their guns lightly in their hands; relaxed but at the ready. All men in front of Mark looked the same, as the SAS had chosen to wear black clothing. Each man was the same as the next, their helmed heads bobbing up and down in front of him. Yet Mark knew who walked next to him. It was Smoke. 

Without a word the man had taken position next to him right before the group had started moving in twos. Mark had glanced over to him, and Smoke had looked back. The growing darkness along with the helmet, gear and goggles made it impossible for the young soldier to make out any emotions on his old commander’s face. His presence made Mark slightly nervous. What did that kiss mean? Had James only tried to make a point, or had it meant more? It was now obviously clear that he knew of Mark’s crush on him, but did his actions of yesterday mean he felt the same way? Or was it just to tease him yet again? 

Mark sighed and wanted to rub his face, were it not for the fact that he couldn’t reach an inch of skin since he was packed and geared up to the max. Since when had that silly little crush started, anyway? He figured he had always felt a certain reverence towards the older man, because he was a member of the SAS and a hardened soldier. Mark looked up to him. His attractive, rough voice didn’t help either, and the way he looked and winked at Mark would make any person’s knees weak. 

But the memories of his last visit to Afghanistan still lay fresh in his mind, even though they had happened a year ago now. Smoke had decided to suddenly turn up in his perfectly perfect world and fuck it up. He hated him for that. But then why did he love him? 

Every glance, every wink, every chuckle, every light touch of the older man sent a funny feeling down to Mark’s stomach. These emotions had slowly made him realise he couldn’t deny that he fancied his old commander. Fancied him a lot. After all, why not? Despite the nightmares, he and Smoke had worked together so well, almost naturally, and it had given Mark a feeling of invincibility. It had been a taste of what life would be like with the SAS. It had been thrilling. That wasn’t so wrong, was it? 

What was it about Smoke that made Mark forget all the bad things of their past? How could he, with his nonchalant and careless behaviour, charm his way to Mark’s heart? Was it the excitement he offered? 

The muffled sound of feet hitting the forest floor entered his ears as he walked in some sort of trance. Every place looked the same as the last while the team penetrated the forest further and further without a break. He had a feeling they were leaving the world behind and were moving away more and more from life. Was there even an end to this dull, monotonous march? An end to this forest? The sky was dark now, and if he looked up Mark could see tiny specks of stars, millions of lightyears away, between the canopies. He kept his pace now, walking in rhythm with Smoke. They moved their legs at the same time, adding a quiet melody to the irregular beat of feet around them. Mark glanced over at the man next to him shortly, and Smoke looked back again. Still Mark couldn’t read any facial expressions, so he looked ahead of him. 

They went on. 

After what seemed like hours of just darkness and trees, the team of SAS operators arrived at their destination. Thatcher told them to get down and find some cover while they waited for the American team to get into position. Mark was happy to be able to sit down for a moment, giving his aching feet a rest even if that meant his bum had to sit on the cold uneven forest floor. He removed his helmet and goggles and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to even his breathing and prepare for their mission mentally. 

A thud right next to him drew him out of his relaxation, and Mark looked up to find Smoke sitting down next to him. 

Great. 

In slight panic Mark’s eyes scanned the group of men in front of him to locate Sledge, Webb or Nade, or even Thatcher, but all of them had found a spot to sit down a good distance away from them and it didn’t look like they were going to move any time soon either. He was alone with Smoke. 

“Hey, you alright?” Smoke asked as he too removed his helmet and goggles. Mark’s eyes instantly shot to his playful hair, which was now even messier than usual because of the helmet. Smoke rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to get used to the different light. All visibility they had now was the moon, reflecting its light through the leaves on the trees. It was just enough to make out their surroundings. Mark couldn’t see very well ahead of him, but he could see Smoke next to him clearly. And realised how close he sat. 

Mark didn’t take Smoke for someone who had no sense of personal space, so this closeness sparked curiosity inside of him. It returned his train of thoughts to the question that had been going through his head ever since _it_ had happened, the day before. _Why did he kiss me? Why? Why?_

“Why did you kiss me?” Mark blurted out, ignoring Smoke’s initial question. He had to keep himself from slamming his hand to his mouth. Had he really just asked that out loud? 

Smoke chuckled, seeming to come alive suddenly. He smirked and winked at Mark before his eyes travelled down mark’s body for a split second. He bit his lip and grinned cheekily as he looked back into Mark’s dark eyes, saying nothing still. 

Thanking God for inventing darkness to hide his madly red-blushing cheeks, Mark’s eyes widened as he continued to stare at the man next to him. Had he seen that right? The suggestive look? Or was Smoke still playing? Why was he never clear, damnit!? Mark tried to keep his cool and continued, although his voice shook slightly: “Was it to prove your point? Or was it... You know... Something else?” Mark was getting increasingly flustered. 

“What do you want it to be?” Smoke returned the question with that stupid, attractive grin of his. 

“What? I- uh, I...” Mark mumbled, scared of saying the truth. Smoke laughed softly. 

“Isn’t this what I tried to clarify yesterday? Live a little. Do whatever the fuck you want. It can all be over tomorrow. Or in the next hour, for that matter.” Smoke gestured to their surroundings with a light wave of his hand. “So, what were you trying to say?” 

Mark tried to swallow, but he couldn’t since his heart was thumping in his throat. How hard was it to say ‘I think I'm in love with you’? Even if they were going to die in the next hour, which he highly doubted, he didn't have the guts to say it. It wasn't like him. He was too shy. 

Smoke calmly gave him time to answer, but when it became apparent his younger teammate had glued his mouth shut, afraid of saying anything, he spoke up: “I’m just sick of that same old love. You know? A woman waiting for you with the table set and dinner ready when you get home. Not for me. Having a wife, and a faithful one at that, in this kind of job is nearly impossible anyway. What if I don’t come back? Fuck if I care, but she’ll be in tears. Don’t want that.” The Londoner shrugged. 

Mark nodded slowly. He understood the explanation and felt the same way, but he wondered what it had to do with them. What it had to do with that kiss. 

“In this line of field, you meet a lot of interesting people. Not all of them are worth it, but sometimes one comes along, and, well... You have to take that unique chance.” Smoke grinned at Mark. “It’s like a gut-feeling. You just have to chase him. Or make him chase you.” The older man winked again. 

“W-what?” Mark was flustered. Was he talking about him? He was talking about him. 

Smoke chuckled again and shook his head. “You're unbelievable, Mark.” 

Mark's heart was hammering in his chest as his mouth fell open and he watched Smoke get up with wide eyes. The man gave him another cheeky grin before leaving him to think of the meaning of his his words. He picked up his rifle and shouted to Thatcher: 

“Are we still going to get this party going or what?” 

Their captain hushed him angrily and scolded at him, telling him it was vital they moved at the same time as the American team. Smoke just laughed, and sat down with him to discuss their strategy. 

When Mark was finally able to tear his eyes away from Smoke’s figure, sitting there with Thatcher and probably arguing that a different strategy would be better, his eyes found Webb. The ginger man had apparently been watching him quietly all this time, for he mouthed _What was that?_ at the flustered-looking Mark. Mark just shrugged, and closed his eyes. 

Maybe he should get his shit together and tell James how he felt. If that would wipe that smirk off his face and stop the teasing, it might just be worth it. Smoke predicted him so well; he read him like a book. Maybe it _was_ time for something radical. 

 

\-- 

“Remember your training!” Thatcher whispered to them before the fight would commence. Night was falling and it was getting increasingly hard to see, were it not for their night vision goggles. 

The American team was in position, and the members of the SAS were lying in the bushes surrounding the cave where they had been told the British and Kenyan aid workers were held. There were a few terrorists outside, keeping watch for the threats the darkness might pose and warming themselves by the small fire in front of the cave. Other than that, there was nothing in this small clearing, which you would have overlooked if you didn't know what you were searching for. The coordinates given by the drone had been spot on, thankfully. Now all the British operators had to do, was wait for the signal... 

“Team, stand by!” Thatcher whispered urgently as he checked the silencer on his pistol one last time. 

Smoke turned his head to look at Mark, but since they were aware that the cameras on their helmets were now in operation, they only stared at each other through their goggles for a moment before concentrating on their mission. 

Lots of thoughts crossed Mark’s mind, but none of them were fear. Now that the moment had come, he was sure they would all make it out alive. They had been trained so fucking hard for this. He wasn’t scared for his life, or Smoke’s. He knew they would make it. No, his thoughts dwelled on the very man next to him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Smoke’s words, even though he had only just heard them. They had made a curious impression on him, filling him with a sudden fire and impatience he wasn’t used to. He was always calm, serious and collected, but now he felt like he wanted to declare his love right then and there for his old commander. Scream it over the rooftops, or treetops, if you will. 

But he didn’t do it. 

The cameras were running, they were surrounded by others - not to mention the hostiles - and they needed full concentration. This conversation was probably best held in private. And so Mark didn’t tell him. 

Finally, after what seemed like waiting in cover for ages, the teams were given the order to assault. Thatcher motioned to his team, and gave them permission to fire. Shots rang out in the dead of night; even the silenced pistols sounding loud in the quiet of the forest. Moving through the darkness and relying on their night vision goggles, the SAS members quietly moved in on their objective. The team of 28 dealt swiftly with their enemies. Two silenced shots to the forehead were all it took to make this operation clean and perfect, and not a scream or grunt was uttered. It was oddly quiet; and Mark felt like they were playing the role of Death, sweeping over this clearing and taking the terrorists back to the Underworld. 

The operators moved closer to the cave, Mark and Smoke working alongside each other like a policeman and his dog. It filled Mark with that same adrenaline and excitement as a year ago. To lose himself in the action and situation, working like a machine with his team, doing what is _right_ , that is what he lived for. The team moved on rapidly and it seemed like all was going well. 

That is, before the American team contacted the British. They had dealt with the terrorists, but they hadn’t found the two Afghan hostages. The British team came to a halt at the entrance of the cave and worry arose among them, fearing that the hostages had been transported elsewhere right before their attack. Had the terrorists known of their assault? Had they heard them? Seen them? Fear slowly started to creep into their guts. Were they too late? 

The operators exchanged glances; Webb seemed especially worried as a deep frown made his forehead wrinkle up. Nade seemed quite unaffected, while Sledge gave Mark a reassuring nod. Then, with a sigh, Thatcher decided they would push on to see if the hostages had indeed been moved, and he led the team into the cave. The captain reasoned that the enemy wouldn’t guard an empty cave, unless it was to distract their attention from the real location of the hostages. And so they entered the cold, dark entrance of the cave. 

A shiver went down Mark’s spine as they moved deeper inside. There was a certain chill to the environment here, an uneasy feeling that could be felt by all men. The air was stale and smelt of rot, and the team kept a good grip on their guns. They had no idea what they would find around every corner... 

Suddenly their night vision goggles picked up movement, and the hollow cave was immediately filled with light and the sound of gunfire, sounding louder than usual as it echoed off the dark rock walls. Mark got down on one knee in order to get better aim, and bullets flew over his head as they fired at the enemy. The terrorists barely had any time to react. One, two, three, four... Four terrorists were killed in the chaos, having not stood a chance against the trained group of operators. 

Thatcher checked his team quickly, but none of them had been hurt. It seemed they had taken their enemy by surprise, which was a good thing. It gave hope that their mission wasn't doomed yet. The men regrouped and continued on into the depths of the cave. 

After a short, but tense walk, a sad scene unfolded before them: four women, thin, dirty and covered in bruises, were tied down on the floor. A few members of the team rushed towards them along with the medical team, while the rest of the SAS members secured the cave. 

Mark stood to the side in order not to get in anybody's way. He was quite shocked by the state of the women, but it justified their mission. These men had been abusing their hostages, and they had paid the highest price for it. He absentmindedly watched men rush to and fro while he tried to drown out the sobs of the women who were being freed. 

It turned out all enemies had been dealt with, and the women were in a miserable state, but alive. Thatcher contacted the American team and their commanders, bearing the good news and reassuring the others all was well. Meanwhile the bodies of the terrorists were inspected and searched for intel, and Webb walked up to Mark. 

“So, how does it feel?” He beamed at Mark. 

“What?” Mark asked, taken aback. What was he talking about? Him and Smoke, or...? 

“Well, completing your first successful mission, of course!” Simon laughed, before he stopped. “Or did you think I was talking about...” He quickly looked around to see if Smoke was within ear shot. He turned back to Mark and whispered behind his hand: “If he’s giving you trouble, just tell me. I’ll have a word with him.” 

Mark blushed slightly and smiled gently at the ginger man. “Oh, that. No, I don’t think you need to worry about that, Webb. I think all is good...” 

“Ah- are you sure? I mean, it’s really no problem-” Simon pushed on. 

“Don’t worry.” Mark reassured his friend. “I’ve got this.” 

“If you’re sure...” Simon said reluctantly, looking rather suspicious. Mark laughed quietly. Webb was a nice guy, thinking he needed to protect Mark against the terror that was Smoke. He appreciated it. 

“I just... need to talk to him.” Mark made another attempt to reassure Webb, who nodded slowly but remained quiet. 

All Mark had to do, was find a quiet moment. Then he could pour his heart out. If he still dared to by then. But that moment turned out to be hard to find...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear they're getting there, slowly...
> 
> This chapter was inspired by this song: [Status Quo – In The Army Now](https://youtu.be/EIxsPBbZ_b8)
> 
> I have a little question for you all, or for those who care. I'm not planning on a smut chapter in this story, because I somehow feel it won't fit the fic. If people are interested, I am willing to write an additional story, a one-shot, which will be linked to this one. It just won't actually be part of the story. Just these two beans having a good time. So, would anyone be interested? (I don't want to give myself lots of work if it's not necessary, especially since there's several amazing Smoke/Mute smut fics out there. I still plan on writing/finishing one long story and there's like 5 other WIPs in my Dropbox, so... ^^; )


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your input on the last chapter when I asked if I should leave out a smut chapter. Since I only received positive feedback, I changed this chapter so the next chapter could fit some sexy time in. So yes, this story will include smut ;)
> 
> I'm actually not quite satisfied with how this one turned out, hence why I took so long to upload. Meh. Please enjoy some fluff c:

The hostages were the first to be picked up by the helicopters after the medical team had checked them for any serious injuries. They would be brought back to safety in the nearby city of Kabul. The four women were tired and beaten up, but very thankful towards the rescue team while they were led away to the headquarters. The operators watched them go, and Thatcher spoke a few words of praise to his men as the helicopters raised to the sky. The men had saved the day, and their captain was visibly proud of them. 

Mark stood waiting for their transport with his friends – Sledge, Webb, Nade and, of course, Smoke – at a small clearing a little way away from the caves; a place where the helicopters could land. The men were chatting and joking merrily to pass the time, happy their perilous mission was over and their tough training of the past week had led to success today. The mood was noticeably more relaxed than it had been in days as the men discussed what they would do first once they got back to the base in their home country. 

But even though he did his best to keep up with the conversation, Mark kept finding himself staring at his old commander. He was daydreaming, preparing the private talk he wanted to have with him in the safety of his own head. Smoke caught his wandering eyes, flashing him his handsome grin every time Mark gazed at him for too long and making the young soldier blush and look away. Still, the man didn't say anything. He didn't make any teasing comments to embarrass Mark in front of the others. James just allowed him to stare, being fully aware of the fact that he was confusing Mark's mind more and more and distracting him with his attractive roughness. 

Sadly though, the two didn't get a quiet moment for their private talks for a long time after that. First they were picked up by the helicopters, on which they sat shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg, but so were the others and the roaring blades of the helicopters made it impossible to hear even Sledge's loud thundering voice as he attempted to hold a conversation with his friends. Secondly, they arrived at the headquarters in Kabul as well, where they were thanked for their efforts once again by the four hostages and all commanders as they attended some sort of small ceremony dedicated to them. Thirdly the men were put on the phone with the man himself, David Cameron, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. The PM had been awoken in the middle of the night when he had been told of the success of Operation Jubilee in Afghanistan. He had stayed awake since, waiting for all SAS operators to reach the headquarters in Kabul safely and thanking each and every one of them personally. 

This was an extraordinary experience for Mark, and he realised once more that he was now with one of the most deadly and skilled men in the world, guarding peace and safety for the people. The young soldier felt a pang of pride as he looked at his fellows, all capable, experienced men who fought against crime and terrorists selflessly. They beamed at each other, patting each other's backs and congratulating each other on the successful outcome of their mission. They praised Mark for his iron nerves and calmness during his first mission with the SAS. The young soldier realised they were in for a party, and even though everyone was tired, they did want to celebrate. 

And so the headquarters were turned into a makeshift party tent, with simple drinks and soft music, but it was a happy party nonetheless. The Americans were present too, and the room was filled with voices and laughter. It was a moment of processing what had happened for everyone, for the mission had made an impression on even the most hardened soldiers. Besides that it was also an opportunity to relax and wind down, as all operators were safe and well. 

Everyone chatted animatedly about the mission, and there was never a moment where Mark was left alone to his thoughts; all of his colleagues came to him to ask what he thought of his first mission, or to praise him. The young man could never get to Smoke, who was also surrounded by friends and colleagues all the time. Their gazes crossed each other across the room a couple of times, but every time Mark tried to get to the older soldier, someone got in his way to chat to him. 

It was starting to annoy the hell out of Mark, as he wasn't really a talkative person, and besides that he was exhausted both physically and emotionally and he just wanted a private moment with Smoke for one. bloody. minute. How hard could that be? 

Then Webb made his way towards Mark, two drinks of lemonade in his hands. With a tired smile he offered one to his younger teammate. “Thought you could do with one.” 

Mark smiled back, equally tired, and gave up his attempts to find his way through the crowd for the moment. “Thanks Simon.” He said as he took the offered drink and brought it to his lips, letting the cold, sweet liquid moist his parched throat. Damn, talking was exhausting. 

Sensing what Mark was thinking, Webb laughed softly. “Not really in your element in situations like these, are you? Don't worry, I understand you. I’m not really a social guy either. The workshop is our natural habitat.” 

The young soldier laughed back, too tired to agree as he continued to sip his drink on autopilot. 

“Just a few more days of sand in our underwear, and we'll be back in the UK. Back in the workshop.” Simon sighed, and it seemed almost as if the man was daydreaming about getting back to his tools as soon as possible. Mark just nodded and vaguely remembered the project he had planned before they left for Afghanistan. It seemed like such a long time ago now, especially since his legs could hardly hold him upright anymore. 

Mark wanted to share his idea with Simon, but he couldn’t find the energy to explain his plans right now. And so the two men just stood in a comfortable silence, drinking their drinks lazily and gazing at the crowd of men and women in the room without mixing themselves into the festivities. The sound of glasses tinkling, laughing and chatting made Mark feel even more wary, and he felt his eyes drooping slowly. He tried to keep them open, but failed miserably. 

Then he noticed someone coming over to them, and he forced himself to spend his last bit of energy to keep his eyes open and hold a conversation with whoever it was that wanted to bother him. When he raised his head to look the person in the eye, he was suddenly face to face with the man he had been trying to get a hold of for the past few hours. 

“Sleepy head.” The Londoner teased, but his voice was different. It wasn't his usual teasing voice; it was soft and quiet, and Mark could have sworn he could make out an affectionate tone in it. Or was that because he was half-asleep? 

“What do you want, Smoke?” Simon growled defensively, bringing a surprised look on the face of the smaller man in front of them. 

“What, are you keeping Mark to yourself now too?” He said, pretending to be surprised while a smirk crept into his features. “I know you’re besties and all, but you have to share, Webb.” 

“Stop troubling Mark, James.” Simon grumbled, clenching his jaw and moving in front of the younger soldier slightly. That’s when Mark decided to step in. 

“It's alright, Simon. I wanted to speak to James anyway.” He said softly, placing his hand on Simon's sleeve gently. He earned a dumbfounded look from the ginger man, but he moved out of the way without a word. The smirk on Smoke’s face spread. 

“Let's get us some privacy, shall we?” Smoke purred and walked away without even looking back to see if Mark would follow. He just knew he would. Mark's face was flushed as he shot an apologetic look at Simon, and followed the older man. 

This was the moment. 

Smoke led him to one of the bedrooms of the barracks that had been assigned to the SAS, and it was as if fate had decided to give them a helping hand. Instead of four beds, these rooms were equipped with two each only. And of course, it turned out Smoke had made sure he was paired with Mark. It made the younger man turn an even deeper shade of red. 

Turning on the lights and letting Mark into the room, Smoke closed the door, leaned against it and folded his arms while looking at Mark expectantly. “Yes?” He asked, the grin playing on his face still. 

“Huh?” Mark answered stupidly, his fatigue mixed with his nerves turning him into an even less sociable being than usual. 

“I think you wanted to tell me something, didn't you?” Smoke reminded him casually, loving to see the younger man so flustered and awkward. 

Mark gulped as he tried to control his breathing. What the fuck was wrong with him? His hands were sweaty, his heart was beating rapidly in his throat and his thoughts were a chaos. He couldn’t think under the gaze of those beautiful hazel eyes. He just couldn’t. 

Looking around the room, Mark tried to find a way to distract and calm himself. Unfortunately there wasn’t much to look at; these barracks were as plain as their own. Two simple beds, two lockers, the bright, pale light above them and a worn-down carpet on the floor under his feet. He looked for a window but didn't find one, realising he could really do with a breath of fresh air. How could it be so incredibly hot in here? 

His eyes darted around the room, painfully trying to avoid the older man standing in front of him, but his dark eyes were always lured to him. His rough, handsome features, the messy hair, the maddeningly attractive grin... How was Mark supposed to keep his act together if he was locked in a room with a man like that? A man he had both hated and looked up to in the past, and now loved? Especially if said man kept him under his curious gaze? What was he to do? 

Smoke chuckled softly, dropping his arms from his chest. “I’ll start, alright? I’m proud of you.” 

He stopped for a short moment, giving Mark the time to stare at him incredulously. His teasing voice had been replaced by a sincerer tone and the grin had fallen off his face, only to be replaced by a small smile. He held Mark's gaze before he continued: 

“You did wonderful today. You’re everything I thought you could be and you really proved yourself. To see the boy I met in Afghanistan grow so much...” His voice faded slowly and he looked away, breaking their eye contact. 

If it was possible, Mark's heart started beating even louder. This was one of those rare moments where Smoke talked about his feelings. Maybe he wasn’t here to tease him after all. Maybe he too felt something, something... 

“And I’m happy you followed me.” Smoke suddenly spoke up again, capturing Mark's eyes again and smiling sincerely. 

“Me too.” Mark heard himself suddenly butt in. Smoke seemed only mildly surprised the younger man had finally decided to speak up. “I mean, I’ve hated you for a long time even since I joined, but I’m happy I had the chance to get to know you better after what happened... I've- I’ve become enamoured by you.” Mute blurted out, realising he should say what he wanted to say while he dared. Still, he hadn’t meant for it to sound so stiff. 

Smoke chuckled, his face less tense now that the serious part of their conversation seemed to be over. “You’re unbelievable.” He laughed, shaking his head, reminding the younger man of their conversation in the forest only hours earlier. 

Mark's eyebrows furrowed in worry. Had he said the wrong thing? Why was James laughing? Did he not feel the same after all? Was being ‘unbelievable’ a good thing or a bad thing? 

“I already felt you were different during that defence on the market square a year ago, when I defused the bombs. The way you fought... You were a one-man army. I thought you were incredible. I thought you were someone I shouldn’t lose sight of. Couldn’t believe you actually followed me to the SAS... I had been thinking about you a lot during that time.” Smoke smirked. “I fancied you.” 

Mark felt his face grow hot. “Really?” 

Nodding, Smoke came closer. “But I wouldn’t force myself on you. So I had to wait until you’d find out yourself. After all, you’re 11 years younger than me.” 

“Does that bother you?” Mark asked breathlessly, not really knowing what he was doing or saying anymore. He was perplexed by Smoke’s words. Mark stood as still as a statue in the middle of the room as he watched Smoke advance on him slowly with wide eyes and his heart pounding in his ears. Was this really happening? This was really happening. 

“Of course not.” James said with a grin as he covered the last few steps so he stood in front of the younger soldier. He had to look up slightly in order to look Mark in the eye, but his cheekiness and cockiness made up for that. 

Smoke reached out one hand, slowly, in order to give Mark the opportunity to stop him, and placed it on the younger man's cheek softly. The hand was rough, like everything about James, but Mark loved its touch. Another calloused hand was placed on his hip and Mark felt himself being pulled forwards so he stood flush to Smoke’s chest. He was panting hard, and for a split second he was worried he might faint because of the suspense. Then Smoke leaned in, and Mark found himself doing the same. 

Their lips met in between, sending a spark of excitement down Mark's spine. He was aware of every detail of Smoke’s face, his perfections and imperfections, and his smell. Their eyes closed gradually as their lips started moving together. A feeling of euphoria overwhelmed Mark as he shyly but softly placed one hand on James' hip, and the other on his broad back. He felt the man grinning against his lips as he softly caressed Smoke’s back, making small circles with his thumb. 

Smoke’s hand slid to the back of Mark's neck as he deepened the kiss, earning a shaky sigh from the younger man. Feeling pressure against his lips, Mark parted them slightly and allowed Smoke in. The feeling of his tongue against the other's was strange and outlandish to Mark, but not in a bad way. He tasted Smoke, the sensation so intimate it made him clasp the older man's shirt. This was the thrill the older man offered and he so loved, and Mark was relishing it. 

The two broke apart slightly in order to catch their breaths. They remained close, with their hands staying where they were. Smoke softly pressed his forehead against Mark's and closed his eyes. Then he sighed. 

“You should sleep, Mark. You’re exhausted.” James opened his eyes again, looking into Mark’s dilated ones. 

“B- but...” Mark stammered, feeling the fatigue in his very bones but not wanting to deny he thought something else would follow now. 

Smoke chuckled and released the younger man. “Later.” He winked. 

Mark hated the emptiness he felt when Smoke let him go. Being in his embrace had felt so warm; he wanted to remain there forever. But he realised how tired he was, and he had to admit Smoke was right. It was probably best if he rested now. He mentally scolded himself for wanting to sleep with the older man only seconds after confessing his love. Where were his standards? He blushed a bit again and smiled shyly at James. “I’m sorry.” He said softly. 

“Don’t be.” Smoke smirked, knowing damn well how irresistible he was to Mark. “We’ll do that later. You should sleep, or we'll miss the flight back home tomorrow, you muppet.” 

“Alright, alright... I’ll sleep.” Mark laughed softly. ‘Muppet’ was a word he heard Smoke say to others a lot when they were being stupid, but the affectionate way he said it to Mark made the younger man feel warm inside. 

Smoke sat down on his bed, satisfied, and crossed his arms as he watched Mark attentively. When Mark shot him a confused glance, he said something along the lines of ‘making sure you go to bed'. Slowly Mark realised what that meant. 

The young soldier became very self-aware as he started removing the gear he hadn’t bothered to take off yet upon arriving at the base in Kabul. He didn’t dare look at James as he slowly kicked off his shoes and removed his gaters, removed all straps and belts until he got down to his clothing. Even though he was taking his clothes off, he started to feel hotter and hotter again. They had seen each other in their boxers before, what with being roommates and all. Why was this so different? 

A quick glance over at the other man showed a wide grin that immediately made Mark regret looking. Smoke gave a small nod, as if to tell Mark to continue, and the younger man looked at the floor as he stepped out of his trousers. He removed his vest as well, so all he was wearing were his boxers and undershirt. He was very aware Smoke was now able to see just how much their short make-out session had affected him. He shivered a little before looking at James again. 

“Perfect.” The older man didn’t hide the fact he was checking Mark out. He got up and came over to Mark, giving him a soft peck on the lips. “Just a little fun before the real thing.” 

Mark watched him nervously, but Smoke didn’t touch him. From the look in his eyes it was clear the older man really wanted to, but he controlled himself very well. 

“Later.” He said again with a wink. “Now you sleep. You need it.” Smoke ushered Mark to his bed, earning a sound of protest from the younger man. 

“What about you?” Mark asked as he got into the bed, longing to spend more time with James. More time. In his bed. 

“I need to discuss something with Thatcher still. I’ll be back shortly.” Smoke smiled down at him, an affectionate accent to his tone. “Sleep.” He told Mark, and with that he left, turning off the lights and closing the door as he exited their room. Leaving Mark alone in the suddenly dark and quiet room. 

The young soldier sighed shakily. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face before he uttered a nervous laugh. Alright, that had just happened. He felt himself a fool, but a very happy fool. Had he expected this would happen a year ago when he swore he hated Smoke’s guts? Definitely not. Was he happy it was happening now? Definitely. He loved how Smoke was so rough around others, but soft and gentle with him. It was such a sweet little thing the older man probably didn’t even notice himself. 

Mark tried to even his breathing, but his heart was still racing and blood was still being pumped down south. _Later. Later._ He told himself. Just as James had promised. Later. 

Fatigue and excitement were battling inside Mark’s head, his thoughts trying to remain on the man whom he had just confessed his love to while his brains told him it was time to sleep. In the end exhaustion won and Mark failed to stay awake until Smoke returned, but he fell asleep with a smile on his lips. 

_Later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a moment to thank each and everyone of you for leaving kudos and/or comments and for reading! It means a lot to me <3


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it finally is - the smut chapter you asked for and I promised!
> 
>  **If this isn't really your thing, it's safe to skip this chapter. It's basically pure smut so you won't miss any vital information.** If you do decide to skip it, I hope you'll return for the last two chapters in about a week or so c:
> 
> And if you do read this chapter, I hope you enjoy... (;

The first thing he noticed when he woke up, was that he couldn’t roll over. Mark opened one tired eye to take in his surroundings, but only found darkness. Where was he and what was going on? The young soldier was still half-asleep as he panicked slightly, his heart starting to beat faster against his chest. No matter how comfortable and warm he was, he couldn’t help but feel scared. Where _was_ he? 

Then something warm moved over his chest and behind him something stirred, making Mark cry out in surprise. Who...? 

“Jeez, your heart is beating like the beat at a shitty party. You always wake up like this?” A raspy voice behind him spoke up, and Mark was relieved when he realised it belonged unmistakeably to James. That means he wasn’t alone, and he- 

The train of happy thoughts stopped. 

James was in his bed. Spooning him. 

Memories of the night before flooded into his head, and suddenly he remembered everything. He was in Kabul with the others. They had successfully finished a mission, and were staying at the barracks of the headquarters. He had been tired. He had found out he was sharing a room with Smoke, and then he had confessed his feelings towards the man. And his feelings had been returned. Mark felt his face heating up in the dark when he remembered what had happened afterwards. Now he was happy their room didn’t have a window, or Smoke would have seen the blush on his cheeks. He loved it when Mark blushed. 

“You’re spooning me?” Mark couldn’t help but ask as he now felt how James’ arms were wrapped around him, their bare legs entangled and his hard chest against his back. The feeling was warm and incredibly welcome, but Mark couldn’t help feeling slightly nervous. 

“Oh I’m sorry, would you rather have me leave?” James chuckled. “You didn’t seem so reluctant last night.” The older man purred into his ear, and even in this darkness Mark knew he was wearing that stupid perfect grin of his. 

James held Mark tighter, pushing himself against his back. Mark gasped, his eyes going wide. Was that...? 

“So, how about we carry on where we left off last night?” James’ voice was rough and husky in Mark’s ear, definitely sleepy but definitely aroused. 

“J-James, I...” Mark started, feeling how his shirt already clung to his body. He was feeling hot, under the covers and with Smoke’s warmth pressing against his back. But those feelings were abandoned when James pushed against his back again, this time gently nibbling Mark’s ear, and the younger man felt _it_ again with another gasp. 

Smoke’s hard length against his back, separated from him only by a few layers of clothing. 

“No need to be nervous, I’ll take good care of you.” Smoke purred on, his hands that had previously been on his chest now venturing lower and slipping under Mark’s shirt. 

His calloused hands were warm, but their touch sent a shiver up Mark’s spine anyway. Mark was now wide awake; his eyes open wide without seeing anything in the dark and all his senses active. He felt every warm breath of Smoke on his neck, every bump and ditch of the man’s abdomen against his back and every tiny roll of his hips against his arse, even the soft pulsing of his dick. On the other side, James behind him still seemed a bit sleepy as his hands lazily explored Mark’s chest, tracing scars, playing with his nipple and running his hands over the younger man’s hard belly. Mark's own morning wood was responding as well, feeling the desperate need he had last night. 

“I won’t lie, I’ve fantasised about this often... About you...” James softly kissed his neck now, his hands still stroking every inch of skin they could get. 

Mark involuntarily sighed under his touch, closing his eyes as he wondered how he got here. He had just been sleeping, woke up, and suddenly he found himself in the arms of a very capable lover, if Smoke’s gentle but passionate caressing was anything to judge his abilities by. Life was strange sometimes. Of course, he wasn’t complaining. But he needed Smoke to know something. 

“James...” Mark’s voice was slurred, sounding more like a moan than an attempt to get the other’s attention. 

Chuckling softly, the moan had apparently aroused Smoke even more as his hands suddenly reached further down, under the covers, and started tracing Mark’s hip bones. Mark inhaled sharply in reply, acutely aware of how close Smoke’s hands now were to his manhood. He was yearning for the other man to touch him, yet was still afraid and nervous. His whole body trembled slightly in anticipation, his mind telling him no while his body told him yes. 

As if James noticed, he spoke into his ear with an audible smirk: “Live a little, Mark.” Then he ran his hands down to Mark’s strong, long thighs, feeling and gripping them while making soft noises of approval and pleasure. The way the older man explored his body like he was some kind of treasure map, made Mark realise that maybe, James actually had been fantasising about this for a while now. It made Mark chuckle softly. 

Then he took Smoke’s advice - the same he had given that night before the mission, when he had first kissed him – and allowed himself to get lost in the older man’s touch. The fact that he wanted to tell Smoke that he was still a virgin and had never been involved in any kind of sexual act at all seemed unimportant to him anyway as the man behind him finally, _finally_ moved those perfect hands to his crotch. 

Mark whimpered when Smoke did as much as cup the bulge in his boxers. 

“Ah, is that what you wanted? You could’ve just said...” The older man chuckled mischievously at Mark’s reaction, his hand gently groping Mark’s erection. 

Biting his lip in a poor attempt to stop himself from uttering all these shameful noises of pleasure, Mark closed his eyes and breathed heavily while James touched him. Precum was already staining his boxers, and Smoke’s actions only made the mess worse. Without taking off the younger man’s boxers, he felt him, fondling his balls and stroking his shaft lazily through the thin fabric. The fact that James now licked and sucked Mark’s neck hungrily yet slowly didn’t make Mark’s situation any better. He wanted release. He was aching for it as his fully-hard dick was trapped in the tight confinements of his underwear. 

“James, please...” Mark heard himself say, but he was too caught up in the ecstasy in order to care that he had just basically begged James. 

No smart comment came when Smoke greedily pulled Mark’s boxers down, apparently having been waiting for permission to continue. Mark sighed as he was released from that tightness, only to tense up again when James wrapped his hand around his erection. The older man kept a firm grip on it, the first few seconds just _feeling_ it. Mark felt himself pulse and throb in that rough hand, and he couldn’t help himself but roll his hips to finally feel some proper friction. 

The action seemed to pull Smoke out of whatever thoughts he was having, for he started moving his hand and finally gave Mark that sweet, sweet release he was longing for. The younger man couldn’t contain himself any longer and started groaning softly in between his pants as Smoke stroked him with long, thorough strokes. His hand was confident and strong, unlike his own when he would masturbate at the scarce moments he got the chance to. James' rhythm on Mark’s dick was solid as he placed soft, fleeting kisses from behind Mark’s ear all the way down to his neck and shoulder. 

Mark's dick was covered in precum, providing James with more than enough natural lube to glide his hand over the younger man’s member smoothly. Mark slightly regretted that he couldn’t turn around so he could make out with Smoke, but by the way he was panting he figured he couldn’t keep his lips on James’ for longer than 2 seconds anyway. His head was spinning from the good feeling Smoke was giving him, and he realised he wouldn’t last much longer. He was needy and desperate; he couldn’t even remember the last time he came. 

Now James passionately kissed his neck, speeding up the rhythm of his hand as he started to pump Mark’s dick with more force. Mark’s groans started to become louder and he rocked his hips into the touch, chasing the wonderful feeling the older man was giving him. He felt how his bum brushed against Smoke’s own rock-hard cock every time he thrusted and it aroused him even more. Behind him James groaned softly, continuing to stroke his dick with his strong, calloused hand. 

With one last powerful stroke Mark came, his seed covering Smoke’s hand, his stomach and the covers. He groaned in relief, closing his eyes to savour the feelings and adrenaline rushing through his body. James continued to stroke him slowly and softly, milking him and prolonging his wonderful orgasm. He placed soft kisses on his jaw as he gave Mark a moment to catch his breath. 

Because, it seemed, the fun wasn’t over yet. 

Smoke released his grip on Mark’s dick and reached his hand up to his mouth, and Mark realised what was happening when he heard a _plop_ behind him. 

James was fucking licking Mark’s cum off his fingers. 

Slightly flustered, Mark wished there was some light in their room so he could watch. Then James reached his hand down again, but to Mark’s back instead of his front this time. With his clean hand he kneaded Mark’s arse, and suddenly the younger man could feel something hard prodding him again. 

_Oh, yeah..._

Mark remembered he still had to tell Smoke something... 

“J-James...” Mark started nervously as he felt Smoke grope his flesh. 

“It’s my turn.” James told him, his voice low, raspy and dripping with lust. Mark momentarily forgot what he had to tell Smoke as he melted upon hearing that voice, but the feeling of wet fingers parting his cheeks and searching for his entrance brought him back to reality. 

“James, I- I've never...” Mark tried, slightly ashamed of the fact he had never had sex before, let alone with a man. That, and Smoke had found his entrance, and a slick finger rubbing over it to ease it up didn’t help to keep Mark’s thoughts straight. 

“Never?” Smoke sounded genuinely surprised before he added after a short silence: “Don’t worry. Just trust me and relax.” 

Mark nodded in the darkness, forgetting that Smoke wouldn’t be able to see that, and took a few deep breaths. Just. Relax. And live a little. 

Smoke’s wet finger now started pushing against the tight ring of muscle, and Mark had to concentrate on his breathing in order for his body to allow the strange intrusion. He blinked a few times as James started pushing his index finger inside; the feeling of his thick finger filling him was already starting to feel uncomfortable. But Smoke was patient, giving Mark the time to adjust and get used to this new feeling while he kissed the younger man's neck and massaged his shoulder with his other hand. 

Finally, Mark's body started to allow him inside and from that point on he found the filling, intruding feeling was actually rather pleasant. Smoke fingered him slowly and he held onto his cum-covered bedsheets, moaning softly every time James pushed his finger inside. Behind him James whispered sweet nothings into his ear, telling him how well he was doing and how good he felt. Mark wasn’t really listening to the exact words, but the low growl of his rough, sleepy voice was a great turn on. 

Through the lust and pleasure he was experiencing, Mark briefly marvelled at Smoke’s self-control. He still felt the older man's raging erection, now against his thigh, trapped in his boxers. How Smoke could keep himself from pulling down his boxers and just slamming himself inside of him, was beyond him. But Mark appreciated how slow the older man was taking this. He could feel the wetness of precum through the fabric of Smoke’s underwear against his skin, and wondered how the strong muscle would feel once it replaced James' finger. 

Once James decided Mark's body was reacting well enough for him, he slipped in a second wet finger. Gasping slightly at the added pressure, Mark closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the feeling of James' fingers scissoring him open. His bum was already sore, and the real fun hadn’t even started yet, Mark thought as he bit his lip. He just laid there, allowing Smoke to prepare him while he moaned softly at every wonderful curl of the older man's fingers. He silently wondered at his skill. 

Then, Smoke’s fingers retreated and Mark felt how the older man lowered his own boxers now. Mark had to fight the urge to turn around and feel it with his own hands, his old commander's hard cock... It fired Mark's imagination. 

Behind him Smoke shifted about a bit, probably smearing his precum over his length so that it could function as lube. He groaned as he touched himself, starved for the contact yet not wanting to cum too soon. Mark was ready, invitingly pushing his arse back against James' hips. 

“Hm, getting impatient now are we?” Smoke’s voice was husky and he was slightly out of breath already. “Are you ready?” He asked as he positioned himself at Mark's entrance. The younger man only had to whimper needily – for which he almost slammed his hand to his mouth – and Smoke started to push inside of him. 

Mark inhaled sharply, this filling feeling so different from Smoke’s fingers inside him. He grabbed a fistful of his sheets, which had now started to dry, and held on tightly as James pushed his full length inside. He whimpered and moaned, half in protest, half in pleasure. And all the while Smoke moved ever so slowly, as if he wanted to draw out the moment he was balls deep inside of Mark as long as he could. 

James breathed heavily once he got his full length in, having held his breath previously as he pushed inside. His rough hands went down to Mark's hips and he held him steadily as he started to pull out again, in order to prevent Mark from moving his hips. Once only the tip was left inside of Mark, Smoke slammed his hips forward with a muffled groan. The younger man moaned out loud, not having expected that force and speed, but for an entirely different reason as well. Smoke had hit some spot inside of him, and it felt _good_. 

Chuckling softly, Smoke repeated the motion, although slower and gentler this time. Again his dick brushed over that spot, earning another loud moan from Mark. The younger man's eyes rolled to the back of his head as James started to move now, hitting his sweet spot over and over. His thrusting was still slow, yet it was so deep that it made Mark's toes curl. It was so intimate, his own dick started to get hard again even though Mark believed he had just spilled a month's worth of semen. 

Sensing that the other was enjoying this as much as he was, Smoke let himself go a bit more. His hips thrust forwards lazily but with enough force to make Mark groan desperately, slightly faster than before. He attacked the younger man's neck again, slowly biting and sucking and marking this man as his. 

Mark was in ecstasy, panting and holding onto his covers for dear life as Smoke gently fucked him. He loved the feeling of James' member inside of him, its thickness and length exactly enough to be enjoyable for him. He loved feeling it push inside of him, Smoke’s thighs working against him and his balls slapping against his arse every time James thrust a little too hard. 

Feeling a bit useless with himself, Mark started rocking his hips and meeting James' pace. It earned him a low groan from the man behind him, and one of his hands moved from Mark's hip to his arse, grabbing and squeezing the round flesh. 

As Smoke started rolling his hips in a delicious, slow pace, Mark threw his head back against James' shoulder. Immediately the older man’s mouth was on the now-exposed skin, before his other hand reached up and traced Mark's collar bones. His fingers travelled up his throat, shortly feeling the bump that was Mark's Adam's apple before one of his fingers found its way into Mark's slightly parted mouth. Without a second thought, the younger man started sucking the finger, which made Smoke groan again. 

More slurred whispers left Smoke’s mouth, praising the younger man in his arms. His hips rolled on and on, slowly fucking Mark into oblivion. But even Mark could feel his dick pulsing and throbbing inside of him, and it didn't take much longer after that until James came deep inside of Mark with a loud growl. Mark groaned too, feeling how the older man spilled his load inside of him. 

Breathing heavily, Smoke rested his forehead on Mark's shoulder as he came off his high. The younger man allowed him, waiting patiently for him to come back to his senses. When he did, Smoke placed a soft kiss on Mark's shoulder and pulled out slowly. He stroked Mark's arm lazily. 

“You’re amazing babe. You know that?” His voice was still rough and slurred. Mark didn't answer, but chuckled softly. “Let's have a wash and uh, head for that transport. I wonder what the time is...” 

Mark tried to jump out of bed, scared they had missed the transport. They had to leave! They had to- 

But Smoke held onto him tightly, keeping him in bed and he laughed. “Calm down, I’m just messing with ya! Thatcher said he would wait for us...”


	12. Chapter 11

“You still won't tell me what you’re building?” Webb asked with a pout as he let himself fall into the seat next to Mark. He glimpsed at the box of wires in Mark’s hands, clueless as to what it could be. The younger soldier just chuckled and shook his head, trying to focus on the tube of glue in his hand. Too much glue and the whole device wouldn’t work, too little and it would fall apart the very moment he would try to deploy it. 

They were back in Hereford Base and the rain came crashing against the windows and on the roof. How typical. Still, it was nice being back home where they could live without constant fear. Mark was happy they had left Afghanistan behind, again. He just hoped he would never have to return there from now on. True, his last experience with the SAS in the war-torn country had been much better than his first, but he still preferred to never set foot in that desert again. 

Mark had started building his long-awaited project in the workshop immediately upon their return. He saw his plans clearly in his head now. No more doubts, no more insecurities. He was going to build the SAS a fully-functional jammer. Mark felt as though he was reborn, as if a burden had fallen off his shoulders and he now had a fresh vision on the world. He should’ve confessed to James way earlier; the inspiration and motivation he had now were phenomenal. He had been working in the workshop non-stop since their return; his hands had been tingling to get started during the long flight home. 

Smoke had sat next to him on their transport back to the United Kingdom, his arm wrapped around the younger man and snoozing lazily. It felt right how shameless James was about it all. Their feelings, their new relationship, the opinions of the other operators... Mark had noticed Webb’s dumbfounded stare, Sledge’s grin and Thatcher’s roll of his eyes. They must have thought they were idiots. But none of the men said anything about it. And so Mark had rested against the smaller man until he too had fallen asleep to the hum of the plane’s engines. No words spoken, no questions asked. They just enjoyed each other's presence in silence after the last eventful hours. 

“But what does it _do_?” Simon pressed on, almost like a whining child. 

Mark sighed, seeing that there was no way of getting rid of the ginger man other than telling him exactly what his new device was supposed to do. “It’s a jammer, you see.” Mark sighed, screwing the cap back on the tube of glue. 

“A jammer?” Simon asked, studying the small device and scratching his stubble beard in thought. 

“Yes. The idea came from Thatcher’s EMPs. This device will get rid of any unwanted gadgets and electronics in its area. If I can make the range large enough, I could even stop breach charges being placed on the other side of the wall.” The young soldier told his friend matter-of-factly, if not a bit annoyed. Webb was silent for a while as he stared at Mark in disbelief. 

“Mark, you’re a genius.” Webb exclaimed then, and continued after a while: “Imagine how much safer a defence mission could be...” He took the device in front of Mark in his hands carefully and looked it over. His slim fingers, that had all sorts of small wounds from soldering, cutting and working in the workshop, explored Mark’s handiwork. “And this tiny box could really do that?” 

“If you’d let me work on it in peace, yes.” Mark stated, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. 

“Oh right, sorry.” Simon said quickly, putting the jammer back on Mark’s desk carefully and giving him a sheepish smile. “It’s still an amazing concept, Mark. You’re brilliant.” 

“Thanks Simon.” Mark sighed, allowing the other man a small smile and wanting to return to his work. 

Simon made to walk off, but turned back around. “Oh, by the way, I’m sorry about earlier...” 

Mark raised an eyebrow at Webb. The man scratched the back of his neck nervously and even seemed to blush slightly as he avoided eye contact. Strange, Simon was never this awkward with him. 

“I didn’t know about... You know, you and James...” Simon mumbled. 

Mark snorted. He knew he picked up on Smoke's signals rather late, but how dense was Simon? “S’alright.” The young operator just shrugged. In honesty, he found his friend’s protectiveness rather endearing. 

Simon smiled weakly and returned to his own workbench quickly to continue his own projects. Mark watched him go, shaking his head with a smile. He returned his attention to his work, but his thoughts drifted off to James. 

So, that had happened. Mark had never had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend for that matter. Being the smartest kid meant that Mark had skipped several classes in school, always putting him with children who were much older than him. He had never had anything in common with any of his classmates, not in primary school, not in secondary school. The others were social, whereas he could always be found with his nose in a book. 

And so Mark’s childhood had been rather lonely. Then on his fourteenth, he was accepted into the prestigious University of Cambridge. There he was with the Department of Engineering after having worked with security systems during his gap year, and his knowledge proved more than adequate yet again. But again, the people around him didn't pay him much attention because of his age, and they disliked him for being a ‘nerd’. Mark completed his degree with outstanding marks, but as an outcast without any real friends. 

Then in the army, he had finally been able to make some friends. Here the men stuck together no matter what, their talents and respect towards one another more based on manpower than brainpower. And finally, Mark had started to get the feeling he belonged somewhere. They laughed together, joked together, supported each other. Until one mission in Afghanistan had torn that all apart and fucked up the life Mark had built up so carefully. 

It had taken a long time until Mark had come to terms with the loss of his first friends. Yet, he now realised, if that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t be with the SAS now. He wouldn’t have known the friendly Webb, the grumpy Nade, the courageous Sledge and the righteous Thatcher. And he wouldn’t have known Smoke, the idiot who had stolen his heart with his charming London accent and his thrill-seeking behaviour. The army had been nice, but this is where he really belonged. With the SAS. 

Now he found himself having friends that would walk through fire for him, friends that were unconditionally loyal and above all, friends that Mark could trust blindly. Besides that he was now in a relationship with his old commander, which had exceeded all of his expectations, naturally. He found he loved everything about him, the good and the bad. He would probably have to keep the man in reign sometimes, when he was about to do something stupid or play a prank on an innocent operator, but he had to admit he even loved that part. 

And their first time that morning after their mission in Kabul... Mark had never felt anything like it. True, he had been sore for a few days after, but he blushed at the memory every time. James had made him feel so good; he only wished they could do it again. But what with two other roommates and a tight training schedule, he wasn’t able to get close with Smoke often. He’d just have to wait until they got leave from Hereford Base. 

Mark blinked a few times as he tried to get his attention back to the half-finished device that lay on the wooden desk in front of him. If his calculations were right, the prototype of his jammer should be done for testing within a week. He just needed to wait for some supplies to be restocked so he could finish his project properly. 

With a sigh he reopened the tube of glue and set back to work, a content smile playing on his lips. 

 

\-- 

A week later, Mark’s jammer was ready for testing. He had decided to take Smoke with him for the first test, and right now Mark was rushing through the corridors on his way to the workshop while Smoke walked behind him, trying to keep up. 

“Mark, I’d love to see what you built, but I’m not allowed in there anymore remember?” Smoke’s rough voice called after Mark, looking over his shoulder to see if the major was anywhere near. 

The young soldier stopped abruptly and turned around. James nearly crashed into him. Oh yeah, that’s right. James was forbidden entry to the workshop after fabricating some stink bombs and setting them off in the local pub in Hereford. It disappointed Mark somewhat since he had worked so hard on the prototype of his jammer and it was finally ready for testing. He really wanted Smoke to be there. 

“Can’t you take it outside of the workshop and show me here?” Smoke asked, gentler this time as he saw the man in front of him pout. He stood in front of the taller soldier and held his shoulders, his brows raised and he looked into Mark's dark eyes softly. Mark stared back at the rough, handsome face he had been able to see from up close a lot lately. He shook his head. 

“Please?” Mark pleaded quietly. 

James sighed. “Mark, I don’t want to be booted out of here. You understand?” 

“I can tell them I forced you to come with me, if they do catch us.” Mark proposed. 

Smoke shook his head, chuckling softly. When Mark didn’t laugh along but continued to look at him as if this was the most serious matter in the world, James’ laughter died down and he continued to stare into mark’s eyes intently. Finally he broke the silence: “Does it mean that much to you?” 

Mark nodded without saying anything. 

James sighed. “Alright. Lead the way, then.” 

Eagerly Mark grabbed James’ hand and led him to the workshop. Looking through the window in the door, Mark was happy to see the room was empty. He opened it and stepped inside; Smoke followed and closed the door behind them. 

“Right, what have you got for me?” Smoke crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking at Mark expectantly. By now, Mark knew better than to get flustered under his gaze and walked over to the locker that was assigned to him. He unlocked it and carefully revealed his device. Smoke raised his eyebrows at it, but he didn’t say anything even if he recognised what it was supposed to be. 

“Get one of your toxic bombs out of your locker.” Mark instructed him, nodding his head in the direction of Smoke’s locker that had been left untouched for a long time. 

“Yes boss.” Smoke joked, brushing past the younger man as he retrieved his own gadget. It looked so primitive to Mark, with tape carelessly wrapped around it. Those bits of yellow tape were all that kept this fatally-dangerous device from exploding and emitting its toxic gas. The young operator made a mental note to teach his boyfriend how to properly and safely fabricate his toxic bombs some time, when he was allowed back in the workshop. 

“Right, this way.” Mark mumbled once James had locked his locker again. They made their way over to the testing area, Mark followed closely by James. 

The young soldier put his device on the floor and lifted the large handles on the sides, which would start its jamming capabilities. And indeed, a low noise came from the funny little box on the floor immediately. James looked at it curiously, but still seemed clueless as to what it was. 

“Now put your bomb next to it.” Mark instructed his boyfriend. 

“You know its explosion would destroy whatever that little box is, right?” Smoke asked, surprised at Mark’s instructions. 

When the taller man just nodded, James shrugged and placed his toxic bomb next to Mark’s newly-designed prototype. He primed it and took a step back, giving the younger man next to him a questioning look. But Mark just looked back and said nothing, trying to keep his excitement down. 

Would it work? Or would Smoke’s toxic bomb destroy it? 

The two men then went and stood behind the safety glass panel overseeing the testing area. “You still won’t tell me what exactly that is? It’s going to be destroyed in a second so you might as well tell me, whatever it does.” Smoke asked, his head tilted towards the man next to him. But again, Mark simply shook his head. 

“Detonate it.” Mark said, to Smoke’s surprise. 

“Are you sure?” The older man asked disbelievingly, the trigger for his toxic bomb in his hand. At Mark’s nod, Smoke just shrugged and pressed the detonator. 

Only, the toxic bomb didn’t detonate. 

“What? Bloody...” Smoke grumbled, his brow knitting together as he became frustrated and pressed the button a few more times before giving up. “I’m sorry Mark, must have picked up a faulty one. I’ll go grab another one.” 

“No no, no need.” Mark said quickly. James looked dumbfounded at the smile that had started to spread on the younger man's face. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

And with that Mark dashed into the testing area before James could warn him. The young soldier removed his device and quickly returned to Smoke in the safe area. 

“Try again.” Mark said, slightly out of breath. His eyes sparkled and he looked into the test area intently. 

“Will you tell me what the hell is going on?” Smoke asked, starting to get annoyed. 

“Just press it!” Mark instructed him impatiently. 

“Fuck it.” James said under his breath and tried the faulty button again. Only, this time there was a small explosion before yellowish gas started to leak out of the bomb. The bomb worked. “What...?” 

James turned to Mark to find the younger man beaming at him. His hazel eyes went down to the small box in Mark’s hands. 

“Now will you tell me what the fuck that is?” James asked in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. 

“A jammer!” Mark eagerly held the device out for James to study. The older man took the box, turned it over and over, but being more of a chemics guy than an engineer, it didn’t look very remarkable from the outside. 

“So... So what, now you’re like Thatcher 2.0?” James asked, still unable to believe that the young soldier had been able to fabricate something that could jam his precious toxic babes. 

Mark chuckled softly. “I hope to use it for defending purposes more. I’m planning to expand its range so it could jam a breach charge on the other side of the wall.” 

“Fucking hell...” James muttered and looked from the beaming, proud young man in front of him to the funny box in his hands. “You’re a genius, you know that?” 

Mark grinned. “So I have been told.” 

“You know what this means, right?” James said, grinning back. 

“What?” Mark asked, taken aback. What did this mean? 

“This could be the birth of your nickname, your operator alias, if you manage to get this prototype into a fully functional jammer that we could take with us on missions.” James explained. 

“Oh... What, Jammer? Jam?” Mark wondered, not fancying those nicknames very much. 

“Hmm, I was more thinking of Mute? It would fit your character very well as well.” James wondered out loud, an affectionate gaze in his eyes as he looked at the man in front of him. 

“Mute?” Mark said, tasting the word on his tongue. Yes, that sounded about right. He could live with being called Mute. 

James grinned at him, then pulled him closer and pressed a long, sweet kiss to his lips. Mark’s eyes were wide open and his cheeks a rosy red by the time Smoke released him. “C’mon, let’s show this amazing piece of handiwork to the others, alright? I bet the major would be very interested in this as well.” 

“Really?” Mark asked while Smoke started ushering him out of the workshop. 

“Yes. You’ll see. Your gadget could save lives out there, Mark. It’s a brilliant idea.” James told him, a hint of pride noticeable in his tone. 

By now, Mark’s smile reached from ear to ear. He had earned his place in the SAS.


	13. Epilogue

Mark was sitting in the workshop of Hereford Base, alone on a Sunday morning. Everyone was still vast asleep but the sun was already out, stretching its first feeble rays of light and warmth through the windows into the room that smelt of oil, grease and metal. Mark was sitting at his desk and his jammer lay on the table before him. He wasn’t touching it and he hadn’t gotten any tools out. It just sat there, on the table, and Mark stared at it almost affectionately. 

_Mute._

A worthy nickname for him that his new boyfriend had come up with after he had shown him the device he had designed. Smoke had called him a genius while he was visibly impressed with the young man’s work. No matter their past, Smoke had always believed in him. From the very beginning of getting to know him, when he was still a number rather than a name to the older man. He had cared. 

_Smoke._

The affectionate smile on Mute’s face spread, the corners of his mouth stretching upwards towards his ears. The man he had chased here. His old commander. The man he had despised and hated, but had fallen in love with deeply. James was forgiven, all bad memories buried to make space for happy ones in the future. Mute felt a funny feeling in his stomach when he thought of Smoke, and realised these were the ‘butterflies in your stomach’ every cheesy love song was about. 

Still smiling, Mute shook his head. He was behaving like an idiot. A fool in love. But the truth was, he had never felt this way towards anyone, and never had anyone felt the same way for him. He was truly and utterly happy. 

Mute was right where he belonged, here with the SAS, at Hereford Base and with Smoke. 

He had made it. 

Everybody who had come to witness the capabilities of Mute’s prototype had been impressed by it. The other SAS guys, Thatcher, and even the major had complimented him. He had said James had been right about him, and that he had proven himself to be a useful asset to the specials forces. Mute couldn’t have been prouder. And nor could Smoke. 

The soft sound of the door opening and closing had Mark returning from his high to the empty, silent workshop. The sun fell through the window beautifully now as he looked up at the door, and saw who had entered through the peaceful rays of light. It was Smoke. The man looked rather tired; his semi-curly brown hair a mess and dark bags under his eyes, but the smile on his face was sweet, and even a bit cheeky. His hands were behind his back, obviously hiding something for Mute. 

“Knew I could find you here in the early hours of the morning.” His rough voice rasped. 

Mute chuckled softly. “Well, it looks like you didn’t sleep at all.” 

“I had sneaked off to London yesterday, because I needed something. Missed the last train.” James shrugged, as if that was nothing. 

Mark gaped at him. “Seriously? You’re such an idiot.” 

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter now. Here, look.” Smoke strode over to Mark eagerly, still hiding something behind his back. When he reached Mark’s desk, he stood in front of him with a big grin on his face. He then proceeded to reveal what was in his hands, offering the object to Mute. “Look, I got you a new gas mask!” Smoke said excitedly. 

Mark’s eyes went down from James’ proud, handsome smile to the mask in his hands. “It's... a ski mask?” Mute cocked his head as he inspected the piece of gear. Seemed like a strange gas mask; not like any of the other SAS gas masks. 

“No, but look!” Smoke insisted, pointing at it. 

Then Mute noticed it. Two bits of white tape, applied roughly to where the mouth would be and forming an ‘X’, were added to the mask. Mute’s mouth fell open. Had James really gone through all that hardship just for this simple, yet unbelievably sweet present for him? 

“It's ‘Mute', you get it? I-" Smoke started to explain the meaning of his gift excitedly, but Mute already understood. And he loved it. He was interrupted by Mute bombarding him with a tight hug and a soft kiss to his cheek. The older man chuckled softly. 

The present, seemingly meaningless to an outsider but oh-so precious to the young SAS soldier, was the ultimate sign of Smoke’s devotion and care for Mute. Even if the man himself would never put it in words. He cared for Mark more than anything in the world. 

Mute picked up the mask from Smoke’s hands and held it in front of his face. It was perfect. This was his personal gas mask. He was Mute. 

“I love you.” Mark sighed happily, dropping his arms so he could look at his boyfriend. 

Smoke chuckled and gave Mark a soft kiss on the lips before he replied: “I love you too, muppet"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fic that's come to an end... Thank you all for following the story and leaving kudos or comments. It means so much to me and I appreciate your support so much! <3
> 
> As for what I plan next... I have a little one shot coming up for Valentines, and the long-awaited GIGN project is put on hold yet again, sadly. However I'm doing research for another project that I think is going to be awesome, so we've got that to look forward to c: If you want to know what I'm up to (or just chat, I don't bite), follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/hetsez)


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